Victoria Kontseva
poet, performer
Author's statement:
"I Love Madrid"
I love Madrid.
Is written on a cup,
which Anna - a Dominican girl - gave to me.
She is a cook.
She works is the house where I live,
temporarily, while running from war.
Anna shows me what I can eat,
and what belongs to senior, so I can’t.
How do I clean the stove, and with what, so it would shine.
The Dominican girl sets the festive table every time.
I eat on my own, and say gracias. It’s not the first time for me.
Seniora is irritated, if I mispronounce Spanish words.
She knows nothing about me, accept that I’m a refugee from Ukraine.
I use the intercom every time I come back.
Soy Victoria. As if it's not me, who pronounces my name.
And when I feel down, so bad I want to weep,
I think that there is someone, who has it much worse than me.
It helps me to keep on going, until next time.
Until the next intercom, until the next “canIpease”.
Sometimes I just want to run away.
To make a beautiful photo of some fountain or a glossy shop window.
But for most of the time, I remain within the walls of another people's house.
Keep on loving Madrid in my own personal way.
“White impersonal”
When I was going back to Ukraine,
I took a bag of my new belongings
boots in small flowers,
which I found on a flea market
a couple of sweaters and a cup which confessed
its love to Madrid.
This cup is filled with sorrow.
I could just break it to pieces.
Not take it with me.
Throw it away.
But it became my companion, along my refugee roads.
I placed it next to the cup, which was waiting for me in Ukraine
which still had coffee in it, dated afternoon February twenty-third
I have a new habit now -
to keep my household, so everything is
washed and clean.
Cause you don’t know if you will be
back in this room after you leave.
I bought a set of cups for myself
similar white impersonal.
So I don’t feel anything about them:
no hate, no love.
No memories, nothing to hang on to.
Coffee is just coffee.
And nothing else.