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A migrating bird has broken its wing against the wire
of my father’s house.
Now it shrieks as if somebody were sawing iron:
It’s you!
It’s your fault!
In response, the flock
turns around.
Our water buckets stand empty
but I’m too scared to go to the well.
It seems any minute now
there would start
a bombing.
© Uladzimir Niakliayeu. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2013 by Valzhyna Mort. All rights reserved.
A migrating bird has broken its wing against the wire
of my father’s house.
Now it shrieks as if somebody were sawing iron:
It’s you!
It’s your fault!
In response, the flock
turns around.
Our water buckets stand empty
but I’m too scared to go to the well.
It seems any minute now
there would start
a bombing.
