Autoretrat en un emprovador

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Sola,

en un emprovador de roba

del centre de la ciutat

m’entretinc, provant-me un vestit

per guardar-hi un secret?

 

“Ai mirall,

mirallet...!”

 

No ser.

No res.

Res de productiu,

tot una revolució.

 

Dins el melic

una berruga

de petita

m’agradava ensenyar-la.

 

Frank Sinatra,

el meu copilot

em diu a cau d’orella:

curva tancada a la dreta, ras!

 

Com aquella musa

quieta

quina pallassada la meva.

 

I a fora hi ha gent que espera,

mentres jo aquí dins, no en sé sortir,

no en vull sortir.

Torna-la a tocar Frank!

 

La meva imatge incontrolable,

que es transformi en ocell.

Ai la fantasia,

quin regal de la solitud!

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Roser Blanch

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Self portrait in a fitting room

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Alone,

in a fitting room in a clothes store 

In the city centre,

I look at myself in a new dress

in which to keep a secret

 

Mirror, mirror,

On the wall...!

 

Nothing.

Not to be.

Nothing productive,

quite a revolution!

 

In my navel there’s

A wart,

When I was a child

I liked to show it.

 

Frank Sinatram

My co-driver

Whispers in my ear:

Sharp turn to the right, flush

 

And like a still muse

quite, what a clown of mine!

 

There's people waiting outside.

And I’m in here, I don’t know how to get out.

Play it again, Frank!

 

May my uncontrollable image

Transform into a bird.

Oh, fantasy,

What a present from solitude!

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Roser Blanch

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