Translation
Months later, my father and I
discovered his mother’s last word—
deep in the downstairs freezer,
one loaf of dark rye.
Its thaw slowed the hours.
I could not bear
the thought of eating it.
Then the ice subsided. The bread
was firm, fragrant, forgiving.
My father got the knife,
the butter. The slices
held. Together we ate
that Finnish silence.
discovered his mother’s last word—
deep in the downstairs freezer,
one loaf of dark rye.
Its thaw slowed the hours.
I could not bear
the thought of eating it.
Then the ice subsided. The bread
was firm, fragrant, forgiving.
My father got the knife,
the butter. The slices
held. Together we ate
that Finnish silence.
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Disclaimer
We do not accept unsolicited submissions. American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2020 by Susanna Brougham, "Translation," from Beloit Poetry Journal, (Vol. 70, No. 1, 2020). Poem reprinted by permission of Susanna Brougham and the publisher. Introduction copyright © 2024 by The Poetry Foundation.