Microscope by Maya Sarishvili
Translated by Timothy Kercher and Nene Giorgadze.
For some reason, no one else is this scared,
no one has smelled the aroma of my cells’ melancholy,
my onionskin cells,
composed of hair fibers and poor and passing-grade students,
an entire class of cellular beings
with a window-seat view.
Just like that, the protective layer is ripped from the universe,
and the path home becomes unknown
along with the house and its many rooms.
But more distant,
the unknown parents of dubious origin
continue their dubious toil—
Such melancholy. Such magic.
Under this microscope is the silent film.
It’s as though
God lays it out before your eyes
yet won’t reveal the most important thing…