Out of Town

Source: Favim

Years later, the water still drips— 

there's no one to tighten the valve. 

It courses through old pipes 

down to the septic tank. 

Next morning in the cellar 

I start the motor with a stick. 

It shakes and rumbles, and chirps— 

the switch is broken is all. 

At night the water arrives 

illegally, undergroundly, 

to the very grave where 

last spring parsley sprouted, 

and at the foot, beside it, 

feral sorrel darkens 

tastily and tartly 

like clandestine sex. 

The motor lifts the spirits 

and returns the night's deductions. 

It's morning, I hum softly— 

a stranger will replace me. 

In the cellar a stream of light 

rinses the window grate, 

it pulses, strikes the meter— 

I catch my rhythm on the stairs. 

And for memory's sake I hum— 

as I pass the septic tank— 

a fluid, underground song 

about sorrel and a stranger.

~ Piotr Sommer