Translated by Panagiotis Tourikis
Trudging, I gathered sounds with my hands
loading them onto my back:
here a bundle of weeping,
here an old woman
thundering curses,
here urns in a heaviness
of soft lamentation
and quiet pleading.
Upon reaching the black trees
high on the hill,
I was already a hunchback
my nose touching the knee. Continue reading "Antonia Gounaropoulou: “The hunchback”"