Bacon

For beginners there are still gently swaying
lanterns, walks holding hands.
But advanced students
are required to go beyond that one love that
one sometimes finds; asphalt melts
under your feet, panting, you just make
your parents’ end. And then you automatically become
a know-all in the face of beauty,
because beauty does exist.

I saw nothing special about the sky today,
you came home and scarcely kissed me,
I was washing cherries. Your hair curled
and despite your presence associations
were approaching of great sadness.

Whoever can manage to make a Sunday paper
on Saturday must get up
and embrace me. They can strip love
of tissue, remove the bacon from the flank
of the pig with a magic wand, reconcile
symbols with each other yet let them
remain real.

From The Very Best Bacon (Spek van mooie zijde, 1993)
By Rogi Wieg
Translated by Paul Vincent

First published in The Low Countries, 1997