Ana Vieru





A very possible heaviness of being


In a room with busy people, I try to print a schedule.  A preoccupied voice asks a question.  I nod, then give a quick answer.  I type a letter, it stings.  I return to the voice in front of me.  She tells me about her newborn child






Today, I saw a woman feeding a dove.  She was ethereal, somehow dreamy, somehow insane.  She captured me for a good couple of seconds.  All she wanted was to immediately, maternally feed the bird.  Her movements, her smile: so otherworldly.  You could feel the thin fangs of madness touching your spine as you were watching.  For a moment, you thought you gazed at the face of the Other. 






Today, lots of people were talking around tables and benches, smoking or just sitting.  They were sharing recent pasts, imaginary futures, impossible scenarios.  A touch of boredom shadowed their usually preoccupied faces.  Timidity and arrogance were also a commonplace.  They seemed as if moving undirectedly, passing a yellow ball from one to the other; the thing is they were not using their hands unless by accident; it hit them, the ball hit them, and they were doing nothing, they were sitting and watching a big blue yellow ball hitting them, while smoking or just sitting and talking




Maybe someone would have painted him a hundred years ago


I saw “my homeless” today.  Every morning he’s at the exact same place, leaning on a car or sitting on the ground, smoking a cigarette. Contrary to popular belief, he does, actually, seem to care.  It’s an undirected, universal way of caring, although he also gets into fights from time to time.  He might also gossip, purposelessly.  He is what no one ever wants to be, while secretly indulging.  






A drugged-up Mother Mary was feeding her child in the bus station. They seemed to get along with each other, but rain melted them away. A woman and a child took their place on the bench, in the bus station. She, too, saw the light of holiness on her kid’s face.  She whistled; an army of mothers brought their holy kids in the bus station.  A special bus came.  A woman with child was driving






The vast spaces of childhood, the vastness of light

turned into love aches









Ana Vieru (n. 1999) is a first-time writer and a high-school teacher of Romanian language and litterature.  She also has a translation in preparation, Étienne Gilson’s La société de masse et sa culture



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