Bella Akhmadulina
Abkhazian Funeral

Two girls were tossing dahlias while passing.
They tossed them sparingly upon the lane.
The women shook their heads and said with sadness:
"Bouquets are pricey now — it's such a shame..."

The street looked on with hungry discomposure.
They watched the little girls who led the way;
They eyed the hands upon the chest, and noticed
Their ghostly hue next to the cheap brocade.

The mourners carried wreaths both sparse and weighty,
And led the black-clad elders by the hand.
The women's dowry money, now depleted,
Paid for those wreaths — a life's allowance spent.

The mourners slowly reached the cemetery
And quickened as the funeral began.
The women's gentle eyes were dim and heavy;
Their cheeks collapsed in faces grave and wan.

They drank and drank — they tossed back shots and glasses —
And all their sadness left them for a while.
For quite some time the roads would smell of chacha,
And voices would be gravelly and tired.

And then they sang a rousing song together
To purposely forget about the pain.
That's how they buried darling little Geuli.
It's been a while — it wasn't yesterday...

Translated by Robin Kallsen