ELEGY Poem: One November, and it will be cloudy , by Lina Buividavičiūtė

The world has sunk into sleep, the window and an overcast
glance, there’s nothing to wake you, darkness engulfs the day
more and more, and sometimes you can’t tell
what time it is now, everything becomes strangely distant, mist, glass,
I need stronger glasses, more expressive rituals.

I don’t want to wake in the morning, I growl from under the covers, building
tents from my childhood, everything is just echo, I no longer ignite that
joyful game. The soup is bland, no one chases
the shadows in corners, now I think that I’ve always
lived so tepidly, it’s neither November here, nor is it anything.

The forest and the trees, fading sheets, unripe winter berries
and colorless birds, I trudge along empty byways,
soaked by the cold autumn rain, drops on my short eyelashes – – –

I try to echo, to answer, I hoot with laughter at death’s
doorstep, I must rebuild life from the ashes, I need
blood and milk, my veins are already barren.

I must toss back my heavy head, drunk from the humidity,
kiss the quiet passerby in the city, worship nudity, commemorate
all of the saints, create a litany of hunger,
survive this month.