Mairi Alexopoulou
Mytilini, 21/11/2007
Hotel “Sapfo”
Room 301

Yes yes yes, I know. The Aegean.
You always talk-talk-talk about it
you speak again and again and again
about silver poems and whitewashed walls
girls with shells and ringlets and sour-orange trees that breathe deeply
to show the yearning to touch the girls
which means
that you are turned on YES you are really turned on, you are horny, for that
little green sea
to watch her walk down the steps one by one carrying her basket with her dog at her side
her little dress comes slightly moves up with every step she takes.
Yes. You are turned on.
And yes. The Aegean.
I drop
your book by the bed.
I stretch.
I look
at my heavy body
It’s hot today. You don’t know this kind of heat.
A new heat. A green house heat.
How can I describe it to you? How would you describe it?
My body is beautiful.
I run my fingers over it.
Even though sweat is running
it’s
beautiful.
Even though I am no more a
little green sea
it’s
beautiful.
Even though I live in tightened Exarcheia
it’s
beautiful.
Even though I’ve never been to AmorgosMilosMytilini all those of the Aegean that you suggest
it’s
beautiful
my body
even though you never had a chance to see it smell it lick it
to use it for one of your poems
even in one of those you were hiding in your drawer
it’s
beautiful.

I kick your fat
book
I watch it tumble across the floor
it reaches the pile of dusty newspapers.
I get up slowly. I make frappe with sugar and milk. I suck
the red straw.
I stick my finger in my beautiful body.
“Fuck your fucking Aegean.
My life is lost.”

Translated by the author