ОДНОПОЛЫЕ
Каждый в своей постели,
он допоздна читает,
щёки её зардели—
в думах своих витает,
мысленно оба не тут:
будто чего-то ждут.
Изгарь угасшей страсти
больше не согревает,—
бывшего целого части
порозну остывают,
где целомудрие —цель,
непосильна дуэль.
Сколь далеки, столь близки,—
тихий ангел над ними,
пряные тамариски
сыплют пушистый иней
двум старикам на кровать.Мой отец, моя мать.OSAlx2о25-о1
*
ONE FLESH
Lying apart now, each in a separate bed,
He with a book, keeping the light on late,
She like a girl dreaming of childhood,
All men elsewhere - it is as if they wait
Some new event: the book he holds unread,
Her eyes fixed on the shadows overhead.
Tossed up like flotsam from a former passion,
How cool they lie. They hardly ever touch,
Or if they do it is like a confession
Of having little feeling - or too much.
Chastity faces them, a destination
For which their whole lives were a preparation.
Strangely apart, yet strangely close together,
Silence between them like a thread to hold
And not wind in. And time itself's a feather
Touching them gently. Do they know they're old,
These two who are my father and my mother
Whose fire from which I came, has now grown cold?
Elizabeth Jennings
