Newlyweds with white flowers
came out of the church and caught a cab, their ears
still full of the organ’s benediction
Here though there’s noise and exhaust fumes
Women wrapped in sheepskins boots to their knees
teased hair beneath their scarves
broad-hipped wrinkled not from age
but from failed lives Housewives used
to scolding in lines scrounging for the food
that dark kitchens and tables are waiting for
And if they don’t bring home meat the man gets mad
who’s borne for hours the factory’s brunt the rumble
of the conveyor belt the emptiness
after the night shift when the day begins
and sleep seeps through shaded windows into bed
Tomorrow is today and the way between days is narrow
So they’ve learned how to complain in voices sharp as razors
to elbow into lines to borrow kids for extra portions.
Fertile at least Their hips remember the births
of boys grown tall and thin who snicker at the queuers
even at those who are mothers of life
They’ll wait in this crush until the doors swing open
wide as a window on a sunny day.

Translated by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh