As Another Voice in this Confusion

There’s all my guilt piled up on top of me
in the middle of the street before my wounded home.
My hands wait at my side
they are heavy, uselessly bare.
Already, in the middle of the street
that blackness slices through my breath
and I’m aware of lots of faces staring to see what I will do.

Instead of waiting for the silence to spread slowly inside me like expired sedation,
or collapsing, jacket and all,
in the abandoned corridor smeared by this black curse;

instead of passing my limp fingers
over the tortured veins of the door panel
lying rejected on the ramp of our garage;

instead of wandering from room to room
pausing, in one by one,
to grasp thoughts of the children and the woman I love, sleeping,
suddenly fleeing from the ferocious fog,
growing confused by the hatred inside me;

instead of babbling to myself,

I listen to muted phrases offered by all and sundry,
pretending I know what they’re on about,
understanding what’s going on
while they let on that they believe me I know…

and when out of the blue
amongst so many faces, spaces,
you appear
as yet another voice in the upheaval that is my mind,
and I hear another sequence of details and decisions,

instead of hugging you and blurting out my guilt
I try and hear in your voice the years we’ve lived together
your butterfly hands, your curling hair

and I think I hear the silent break
of love.

Translated from Maltese by Maria Grech Ganado