Nathalie F. Anderson

Autumn, Casa Batlló

… the eye of a whirlwind …

– Casa Batlló, Juan José Lahuerta, tr. Steve Cedar

Oak curdled to caramel

and plaster swirled in a silky batter –

                  piece of cake

kept long in the cupboard

skim crackling off the milk

the butter gone rancid

Water shatters in the sink

                  shatters the sink

She’s bedded down in dry rot and wood worm

motes rising and falling

                  the blue note and the yellow

and the undulated jamb splitting artistically

                  waves, wrinkles, folds

                  great drops held in suspension

Air shatters against the glass

                  shatters the glass

Senyora, your bones are showing

And when did the black lace, hoarded,

fray to tatters in its drawer?

Or the great-grandmother’s heirloom shawl,

its silk fringe fly-away as hair?

Fire shatters around the hearth

                  shatters the hearth

And the walls

lit as if from within,

the parquet dimming

The shawl flung down over the piano

                  (no space for a piano,

but were there a piano)

its moaré so frail, a chord shatters it

                  shatters

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