Now that you’ve all left,
that only dirty dishes remain on the table,
maybe because the bread crumbs
and the glasses stained with wine remain
or maybe it’s because I get old
and time without noise is heavy for me.

This silence
of having a husband and nothing else.
Of having left the world behind.
This spirit
of not knowing which desire I want to have,
to want the night cooler and more dangerous,
to go out and find a story to tell to myself
and not just to grandchildren and neighbors.

Maybe this is why
it can’t be digested
the heart so late,
but before going to sleep,
I have a hunger for myself that takes me by the legs
and I would run
and leave dirty dishes on the table
and the husband
and one that looks a lot like me in bed
not to hurt anyone.


Montse Lopez Muley Abdhalha
(MUSSIA)


Translator’s note: original poem written in Catalan. Translated with the sole purpose of conveying its general meaning in the new language.