Artist’s book, print on paper, tracing paper, 2010. The poem displayed in this book is:

BIRTHDAY

Third birthday

in front of me the cake of cut ribbons

as if the ribbons are my hair

newly cropped by them

those watercolor portraits glued to atmosphere

have always been me

Inviting the touch of discouraged plastic

(blackness conceals the palette)

discouraged memory-absorbers

discouraged Christmas decorations sold

by the cashier girl:

thieves!

…and a poem returned me my breath…

Mould makers a weird heap

a salutation of sickly exaltedness illuminates

my face spinning

spinning spinning

transforming my concreteness into red

a voice from behind spells out

The most important word of the century

her being on the threshold

of a sterile emotion

my immortal sister

her last words:

“This curtain made of ice never opened like this!”

This offering smiles of venomous sky-plants

their existence decorated previously

their hands separate the dimension

beyond earth’s…

This… stealing a dimension from my face

alluring inflorescences of painted hands

…and an armour-plated Dvorak connected me to life…

Aged three

the cake of cut ribbons

fell on top of us

from a tiny opening

undoubtedly

the most beautiful day of our lives.

Elif Sezen