Early in the morning a naked woman kneels on the kitchen floor praying

Poem By Miroslav Kirin

Early in the morning a naked woman kneels on the kitchen floor praying.
The smoke from the heating plant rises steadily.
A soprano from Schnittke's madrigal interferes with the voice of the potato vendor coming from the street.
The chill descends to the root of a plant
on the balcony left in oblivion.
When the vendor leaves, I replay the madrigal and this time the woman's voice
seems unbearably lonely.
A moment ago she was with him, now he has left her.
As if she has lost the support of her own verticality, her voice broke down,
aimlessly departed somewhere horizontally, indifferently.
What was this naked woman praying for early in the morning?
Isn't her own verticality in the kitchen all that takes?

Comments about Early in the morning a naked woman kneels on the kitchen floor praying

A well articulated piece of poetry nicely brought forth with insight. Thanks for sharing.


Other poems of KIRIN

IT WOULD NEVER HAPPEN TO INDIANS

The ground - still wet from the afternoon shower. Each little grass-blade
persistently returns the raindrops to the sky.
Having overheard this harmless dialogue, we failed to notice
the nightfall - suddenly it was there, between two cups of tea.

[THE BOAT WAS PACKED FULL...]

THE BOAT WAS PACKED FULL,
the coast deserted, soon to be lost from sight.

We were rowing for hours,
we were departing and arriving.

[Unfathomable, just like when I rinse the dirty dishes in the warm...]

Unfathomable, just like when I rinse the dirty dishes in the warm, gushing water,
put them aside to dry, and my face is aglow with happiness.
With an unmeant easiness I open the window to let in the fresh morning air.
The water is boiling, and from the silvery box I add four teaspoons of coffee.

My tongue falls out of my mouth

my tongue falls out of my mouth
it is no longer a tongue, it is a huge calf's liver
of the calf we slaughtered yesterday

YOU, WITH YOUR HAIR SWINGING LEFT-RIGHT

They don't allow me to read on the tram, especially you, with your hair swinging
left-right.
You're tossing it onto the page I am reading, splaaash, all the words vanish
and I have to look up at you.