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Rodica Draghincescu
To Myself


At birth
I appeared
Already oppressed in an air cage.
How amazing, what riot of colours
A stupefied godmother!
Compassion drowned in tears
She had an indelible pen
And on her lips offered on credit
Hung a suspended smile
She gratified me with a scribbled digit
Which she marked, consoledly, on my back:
Girl, two kilos, odd number: thirtynine
Strangled by the ombilical chord
Survival chance 26%, epidermal eruption
Talking to herself.

Translated from French by Constantin ROMAN, 2003

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