A Tale of Burnt Skin
carry me through the forest in your throat
there in the dark blue grass ants crawl over yellow bones
and bright sweet strawberries grow among corpses spilling a sweet smell
but let me collect the wild strawberries
God I really want to stay alive
don't breathe don't speak
you are the girl who tamed the Steppenwolf
didn't they tell you that you shouldn't burn skin
bitch where is your red scalp go remove his sticky promises
on the black twisted trunks by bygone trees
couldn't you wake him when he fell asleep with gum in his mouth
for it was already the apocalypse
now take a jar and strain your poisoned milk
over your cold first born
the one who doesn't know the way never gets lost
I carved maps on your back when I started to come
and kept the scars for myself
let them not judge those who were sentenced to death let them judge me
your venous arterial one . . .
lose me lost I am so tired of going back . . .
somewhere in a magical kingdom there lived a boy with a dimple in his chin
with a crater in his chest
with insects on his head: one half of the world — for mother
the other half — for father
he played the flute put birds in a box
but from his music wild berries sprouted
something quiet and unnoticeable like the creation of dust
happens in the hours when you let me go
the rain finally becomes rain and happily soaks into the earth
the sand cleverly stirs and grasps shoes in its lips
a wolf embroidered in cross-stitch is nailed above the bed for protection
until the time I am jarred awake again
carry me through the forest
the music broke out beat rustled
better never-ending music came from birds' eyes
in the blockaded space
and the one who initiated it
couldn't stop the blood
_________________________
Anna Malihon
Girl With A Bullet
translated from Ukrainian by Olena Jennings
World Poetry 2025
