about myself I remember very seldom

I dream I’m in labour

it’s a girl it’s a girl and the doctor’s voice

it’s a girl and her name is maria or ioana

or andreea

then you come and you dress me up as a bride

you take me by the hand in the hall of the literature

department and you hold me in your arms

close close until the dream breaks

now I come and confess: this is an imaginary bed

only under the bed the tin basin

I keep the chopped baby in