It's Day 16 in NaPoWriMo and our task today is to "translate" a poem written in a language we don't speak, using this site. I chose this beautiful poem by Elisa Biagini. I decided to retell it rather than translate it, but after reading the real translation I really feel like a traitor for doing this to it:
I think she loves him a lot.
I think they don’t speak the same language.
She translates his life
With the aid of feng shui.
She sings to him,
Her voice in harmony with his voice.
They don’t speak the same language,
But she writes his life with her body.
She summons the wind to clear the path he is taking,
But there is that bit about the water she used to wash the dishes
That I don’t quite understand.
She reads his life to him,
In strange doorways.
As he passes by, she pulls him
Into the museum she created of his life.
Of their life.
Hers is an artist’s portfolio.
She is a collector of memorabilia,
Trying to capture the essence of him,
To keep it on the shelves of her museum,
To protect it.
The acid rains
That have been falling for years
Will not taint the silver of their past.