3 Hélène Herault Translations by Liza Tripp

By and | 12 August 2025



Clotilde

She’s put on her flowered dress
Seated alone, centre of the room, she hums
Expecting nothing, nobody.
Time’s contours have grown hazy
Unless he was the one to abandon her?
Yet just before, he left her flowers on a dress and a stockpile of songs
To welcome others entering the room, yet others still arriving, taking their place
round the table, others who soon try and tell her to sing a bit softer, while others
toss game pieces onto the board, and others immediately start fighting over the
red one, and others repeat the instructions, to be challenged again in five
minutes, while others stare at the door, and others demand quiet, and still others throw the dice then move their pieces much farther than they should, as others accuse them, and others say
what’s important is we’re playing together, and others ask what time will we eat,
and others stand up, others come to get those who can no longer walk, and
others congratulate her on her win, then say see you in a bit Clotilde.
In her favourite flowered dress, her voice clear, she hums.

 


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