Dmitry Gerchikov

when we'll go to the west bank,
the desert will bloom with smoldering cellophane

when we'll go to the west bank,
we'll see a border post and nothing else

men in helmets and bulletproof vests
will interrogate us for 10 hours

where we’re from, why we’re here, what we want to see,
what we think about the

coldest day in 10 years of record-keeping,
whether we’re lovers or just friends

when we’ll go to the west bank,
the west bank will come to us

we’ll feel it with our entire skin
how it seeps through the body

like a fata morgana: blade of beam cuts through
an airy cube the color of faded khaki

the coldest day in 10 years of measurements
will turn out to be surprisingly warm

when we’ll go to the west bank,
we’ll remember who we were in a past life

ghosts of former incarnations
will meet on the highway at night

with canvas bags filled with
the whitest, the saltiest cheese

the crumbliest, the cheapest tobacco,
the most viscous, most delicate butter

this is the warmest among the coldest days
in a succession of the longest, the shortest days

when we return—we’ll see
that we shouldn’t have gone anywhere

when we return—we’ll see
that the west bank is in every drop

of rain that never fell,
in every stone of unfallen hail

when we’ll travel to the west bank,
we’ll remember who we were in a past life

he was a canvas bag, you—white cheese,
she—the shortest day in a string of the longest days

but no one was reborn as the west bank,
not even birds know what’s going on in these parts

so when, when will we be reborn as the west bank,
to find out what’s really happening there

to watch how the desert will bloom with smoldering cellophane,
to see the border post and nothing else

translated from russian by lisa kh. 😾 edited by dani s. 🧑‍🍳