PRYPIAT. A STILL LIFE
This, I think, is dawn -
but a light is a crumpled sheet.
The ashtray is full.
A wilted flower in the vase.
Four walls multiply each shadow -
the room is empty.
But someone was here.
on the polished wood
- two drops of tears
(did a couple live here?)...
In the chair lies a suit that once held a body,
The suit has collapsed into a flat lifeless bundle.
Come in and look - no one is here.
Only, the air, stale, dank -
And, oh, the unfinished sweater recalls someone's fingers,
An opened book - marked by a finger nail.
How endless the silence behind this boundary!..
On the polished wood two stains
(or maybe it's tears?),
An apple, bitten but not brown,
still lies on the floor near the chair...