THE WOMAN LEFT HAND: Poetry, by Peter Handke

THE WOMAN LEFT HAND

Her climbed with other from a metro station, ate with with other in a warm table, with other was waiting in a laundry, but once I saw her alone, in front of a wall newspaper. She was dating with other from a skyscraper of offices, she trod with other at a stand, she sat with other at a field-sand play, but once I saw her from the window, play chess alone. She was lying with other on a lawn of the park, she laughed with other in a maze of mirrors, she cried with others on the roller coaster, and then I saw her alone, only, to walk in my wishes. But today, in my open house, the phone was turned away, the pencil was left in the calendar, to the left was the cup of tea, and the handle to the left as well, and was near the peeled apple in reverse – and unfinished peel – the curtains were gathered to the left, and the key of the door of the house was in the left pocket of my jacket. You betrayed, oh left-handed! Or were you to leave me a message? See you in a foreign continent I would, because finally in the midst of others I would see you alone, and you among a thousand with other would see me, and we finally we’d encounter.

(Peter Handke)

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