Translated by Elizabeta Bakovska
We buried a little rabbit behind our building,
soft, dead, swollen from the grass.
His stiff paws
did not dig out the soil.
We forgot to make an amulet
from his little tail.
I held a little rabbit in my arms,
alive, soft, ticklish…
freshly deceased, dehydrated.
We planted a little rabbit behind our building,
we soaked his little ears with resin,
covered them with plastic bottles
so he is not cold in the winter.
Many little rabbits sprouted behind the building,
we grafted them with shirt intestines
and sharp teeth.
The little rabbits eat insides
– they eat hearts.
The little rabbit climbs the stairs
in the evening with his stomach full.
He does not believe in ghosts,
he is still alive.