Gemma Gorga

Closure

Translated from Catalan by Sharon Dolin

I am enclosed in a crib, don’t know
how old I am. I am enclosed in this
office, don’t know what time it is. Enclosed
in a sleeping pill, no questions asked.
Enclosed in a proper name—who invokes me,
who summons me? Enclosed in a planet
invisible through the telescope lens.
Enclosed in a genealogical tree,
its roots rotten from too much water
in the eyes. Enclosed in the forty-five
candles on the cake. Enclosed in a sac,
always without enough oxygen,
as scarce as meaningful answers.
Enclosed in a shoe box—
from time to time, a pious hand
scatters four mulberry leaves
to make me happy. Enclosed in my own
enclosure, in the stones with which I raise
the wall’s shadow, in this mouth and saliva
I do not give, in this voice wheeling
inside my palate, diminishing unhurriedly,
concentrated, concentric, constant.
Like a universe in regression.