Texture, Colour and Time

Gemma Gorga
Translated from the Catalan by Sharon Dolin

Forever fused in my mind — pomegranate seeds and cat’s tongue — unforgettable.


I pry out the seeds with my fingers and all
my memories spill onto the frosty marble
counter. Little, lit up like ruby-red carnival lights,
rough as the cat tongue of Time
inviting us to sit at the table to gobble us up
in a mouthful. The pomegranate returns
it stains our fingers that pensive, murky color,
the color hours take on that won’t
clot—-the open color of memory.

Appears in translation in The Brooklyn Rail


What is also striking is how the to be eaten swallows up the eater. Or there is an invitation to do so. Always on the verge.

And so for day 2689

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