Poetry | May 16, 2022

Tree of Life 

Translated from the Slovenian by Brian Henry 


I was born in a field of grain and snapped my fingers. 

White chalk crossed the green blackboard. 

Dew set me on the ground. 

I played with pearls. 


Pastures leaned against my ear and the fields. 

The stars sizzled. 

Under a bridge I carved an inscription: I can’t read. 

Factories were being washed with salt water. 


Cherries were my soldiers. 

I threw gloves into the thorns. 

We ate fish with a golden bread knife. 

In the chandelier above the table not all the candles were lit. 


Mama played the piano. 

I climbed on my father’s shoulders. 

I stepped on white mushrooms, watching clouds of dust. 

Through the room’s window I touched the branches. 

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