Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Tsead Bruinja

CELLAR

when she hears the hand on the handle behind her
the spring in the cellar door stretches the blue
mouthful of meths splashes back in the plastic
belly of the bottle still not mixed with her spit
  
her heart falls again her face blushes red
she screws the lid tight and wipes the wrinkled
back of her left hand over her mouth and only
starts to breathe in the gentle eyes of her daughter
  
who sent her boyfriend home with a last kiss
and missed her mother in the chair the black
lid of the stove heavy cast-iron unused
  
warmth probing the awareness of her fingers
a cautious creaking on the cellar stairs mother
is still up she thought and goes there  

KELDER

KELDER

at se achter har heart hoe’t in hân de klink betaast           
de fear yn de keldersdoar spant plûmpt de blauwe slok
spiritus noch net fermongen mei har flibe
yn ’e búk fan de plestik flesse werom sakket                

de moed har wer yn de skuon rint har kop read oan draait
se de dop derop faget mei de achterkant fan de linker       
hân rimpele oer de mûle en begjint pas te
azemjen yn de sêfte eagen fan har dochter

dy’t har feint mei in lêste tút nei hûs stjoerde en       
har mem net sitten seach yn ’e stoel de swarte kop
fan ’e kachel swier getten izer ûnbeset

de waarmte socht in plak yn it witten fan har
fingers op de kelderstrep in foarsichtich kreakjen
mem leit noch net op bêd tocht se beweecht derhinne
Close

CELLAR

when she hears the hand on the handle behind her
the spring in the cellar door stretches the blue
mouthful of meths splashes back in the plastic
belly of the bottle still not mixed with her spit
  
her heart falls again her face blushes red
she screws the lid tight and wipes the wrinkled
back of her left hand over her mouth and only
starts to breathe in the gentle eyes of her daughter
  
who sent her boyfriend home with a last kiss
and missed her mother in the chair the black
lid of the stove heavy cast-iron unused
  
warmth probing the awareness of her fingers
a cautious creaking on the cellar stairs mother
is still up she thought and goes there  

CELLAR

when she hears the hand on the handle behind her
the spring in the cellar door stretches the blue
mouthful of meths splashes back in the plastic
belly of the bottle still not mixed with her spit
  
her heart falls again her face blushes red
she screws the lid tight and wipes the wrinkled
back of her left hand over her mouth and only
starts to breathe in the gentle eyes of her daughter
  
who sent her boyfriend home with a last kiss
and missed her mother in the chair the black
lid of the stove heavy cast-iron unused
  
warmth probing the awareness of her fingers
a cautious creaking on the cellar stairs mother
is still up she thought and goes there  
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère