Passions
Rita Gothier…
We adored her, but she
vanished from our life.
And my colleague and I
got jobs here.
Rita reappeared in our life
when she got
into my hospital ward.
Her health kept deteriorating and
she’d been seeing dreadful dreams,
as though her relatives urged her
to lie down in a coffin.
I visited her
during my shift.
I would take her hand
and listen to her complaining:
“My fever wouldn’t subside…”
I anticipated something bad
but not that soon.
Once at a briefing,
I heard it said:
“Lilya’s friend, Margarita Gothier,
died last night.”
And all turned to face me,
making a lot of noise.
Indeed, Rita had a beautiful surname,
Gothier.
I dashed out
and ran into my work mate.
She likes to hit the bottle
and go around in that condition.
That night she was tossed out
of a car going at full speed.
When I met her, she was all ragged
but gay.
She said to me: “Don’t go!
I wouldn’t go if I were you.”
But I went there anyway.
They had already begun
the dissection.
I stood by the wall,
at a safe distance.
Now and then I could see
her head,
with the hair thrown back.
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