Anna Akhmatova
You sip at my soul...

You sip at my soul — I know
the flavor can’t be sweet,
and yet, you seem to find it intoxicating.
Torture yourself. Far be it from me to interrupt
your fun with a plea. As for me,
I lack the ambition to console you:
I’ve been at peace for weeks.

Let me know when you’re finished.
I’m not sad at having, as it were, fallen
outside of the world and of life.
Just walking through the neighborhood,
watching children play — that’s enough.

The gooseberries have started to blossom
on the hedge. Past that fence, they’re loading a cart
with bricks. Is your interest in me
just brotherly-friendly? Do you suppose you love me?
I don’t know, and I don’t need to know.

I’m tired. I lie on the grass.
I let my body rest. It’s broad daylight
in an open space. People passing may be wondering
vaguely, “Isn’t that the young woman
who just became a widow”  

Translated by Seraphina Powell