Le jardin de mes parents
My parent’s garden
Last year, I returned to my childhood back home, and I waited…
Waited, in front of the window, as I did when I was a child.
And see time go by – transparent –
Despair of an adult view, powerless in its inability to find that of the child.
Window open and closed on my past life.
« Black garden » and black trees, the burgeoning of light.
Vision of a chaotic world.
« White garden » and white trees, covered with snow, erased.
Urging need to mourn.