Agoloso Presents - Atondido Stories Agoloso Presents - Mama Mada | Page 228

Mama Mada
Ferry by Maria Taylo r
Natasha is sixteen, drunk on Flemish Beer.
She sobs and giggles, loudly threatens
to jump into the English Channel.
Roll your eyes. Comfort hungover Amy
who threw up outside the large window
of the hypermarché restaurant. Leave her.
Hang around with a walkman on deck.
Pretend you’re in a pop video. Mime at grey.
Forget the rows of white crosses in Ypres.
Vow to get further than any of them.
Be different. Pause. Breathe in salted air.
Go back to the girls with sore heads.
Watch the milky light of England rise.
See everything in front of you, fogged.
Feel the land’s pull, its terrible magnet.
Somewhere
by Jo rd i Do ce
Translated by Law rence Schim el
You live in a city where the map of the side streets dangerously
resembles that of your heart. A city where the stains and chips in the
walls are windows that follow your steps, doors that no one dares to
enter. Where the hung laundry sends coded messages and the glassy
eyes of fish exchange glances of recognition with the copper coins of the
servants. A city of towers and minarets that change location every day,
of carpets that fly inside one’s eyes, of lamps that hide their own light. A
city where at nightfall groups of young and old men gather atop the
walls to look over the flood plain, the melted nugget of the sun
illuminating the fertile land, cornstalks trembling at the slightest breath.
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