On walking - Lina Buividavičiūtė

When I met my husband to be, we understood that we

are both people of the forest. Long walking trails,

in Paneriai, tens of kilometers, little pilgrims, backpacks

getting lighter – cubic meters of silence, of pine tree

air.

I carry my firstborn in my womb, an easy rhythmic swaying,

my child, know that sometimes we can also let ourselves

walk, syncopation of steps, worn soles of the shoes and pain

contracting to a pinecone – trust me, this is the smallest possible

unit of measure.

We gather mushrooms, such a warm September, for the first time

the stroller’s wheels roll down the pine needle covered path, my child,

You open your eyes, pupils pulsing in the sun, You drink in the light,

You learn to see shapes in the clouds, my milk smells of autumn,

of harvest.

Strong anxiety, we’re all walking in the forest, I say to You, my son, mama

will have to leave, will you be scared to fall asleep without my hand? They do allow

walking during set hours there, a tall fence, a small space, we are

grateful for it, we tread circles, soothe terror with monotonous, but rhythmic

steps.

Now my mornings start not with coffee, but with a heart monitor, I drink

change, rhythms, walk past the kindergarten, Sapiegos park, my eyes

embrace the oldest linden tree in Vilnius. I learn to walk away

desperation, urgency, I learn to stay, drink in the oxygen released

by trees.

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Lina Buividavičiūtė is a poet and literary critic. These poems are translated from Lithuanian by Ada Valaitis and Irma Šlekytė.