diumenge, de desembre 31, 2006

Family Reunion by Sylvia Plath

Avui em toca cuinar un dinar familiar... i si no us importa, ho amenitzarem amb una miqueta de Sylvia Plath


Outside in the street I hear

A car door slam; voices coming near;

Incoherent scraps of talk

And high heels clicking up the walk;

The doorbell rends the noonday heat

With copper claws;

A second's pause.

The dull drums of my pulses beat

Against a silence wearing thin.

The door now opens from within.

Oh, hear the clash of people meeting

The laughter and the screams of greeting

Fat always, and out of breath,

A greasy smack on every cheek

From Aunt Elizabeth;

There, that's the pink, pleased squeak

Of Cousin Jane, out spinster with

The faded eyes

And hands like nervous butterflies;

While rough as splintered wood

Across them all

Rasps the jarring baritone of Uncle Paul;

The youngest nephew gives a fretful whine

And drools at the reception line.

Like a diver on a lofty spar of land

Atop the flight of stairs I stand.

A whirlpool leers at me,

I cast off my identity

And make the fatal plunge.