Translated by Kathleen Snodgrass
In a blinding white afternoon
a bride behind the glass strolls
among sweet sixteens in yellow
who look out the window
from among the habits of old nuns,
first communion angels,
a christening gown,
a miniature shroud.
Rosary beads curl in on themselves,
twisting over a coffin’s taffeta,
painted coins,
an arsenal of fountain pens
for the never-ending cake
and white gloves
with white shoes
among bouquets of orange blossoms.
The morning proceeds like a bride
and the burning air collides
with the fanned-out train in the shop window.
Inside, in the shadow of the shops,
display cases are reflected in tiny mosaics,
in the shrunken chests with chains of fake gold.
A matron, flushed and wide,
watches over the steps of the lifeless brides
who tend the shop
and sell a dress,
thinking of nothing.
Originally published in Cider Press Review, Volume 1.
