Yesterday I sent you a letter. And today on the phone
you tell me you are pregnant. I pack up and return,
you greet me at the airport, you’re even lovelier than
in my letter that’s on its way to you. We build
a house, our child grows, our parents shrink,
then a few years of sweat and tears, in which we prudently
pickle cabbage and gherkins for the ever-colder days.
In the coloring book of our life there are fewer and fewer
blank spaces, the crayons grow shorter, we try to be precise,
but even so we go over the lines. We busy ourselves
with everyday matters, and our paths are ever
deeper, they start to look like tunnels. Meanwhile
my letter’s on its way to you. You’ll open it when
it suits you best.
Translated from Polish by Antonia Lloyd-Jones.