The Disciple Poem by Monika Rinck

an obstinate disciple, so youthful
but the one whom jesus loved
who laid beside him at the last

kissing him was like kissing a door
slim flat stern with hinges on one side
but moveable on the other
how it swung open how we fell
there were boats and we took them
our nicotine-sour mouths in each other
like an element to shape something from
the bitterness gathered in the hollows
when it wore off we smoked

in the end a rain fell
a rain we could barely believe
it turned cold, things got wet and everywhere
the shivering began - our
three-dimensional talk folded.

then the plain grew wide and dark
no one was left, not a sound to be heard


when i meet him again he can speak
i think he is my brother
say something - he says and i speak

Translation: Nicholas Grindell