on the threshold
a girl
a foreigner, most probably
slim, a bit of a redhead
lovely white skin
she’s annoyed by the heat
of his brown eyes
nailed
to the silver cross
resting drowsily
on her soft flesh
behind the thick glass
his brown eyes
prodding her green ones
he asks her
– Maltese? –
she’d love to tell him
tell him about
her mother
true-born Maltese
sucking like a sugared almond
the memories of her youth
Wied il-Għasel
Ħaġar Qim
Għajn Tuffieħa
Ħondoq ir-Rummien
Għar Lapsi
Għar Dalam
Fomm ir-Riħ
then
shy, confused
– yes –
she answers
with a slight stammer
– Maltese… of Maltese origin –
he thinks her sweet
on the threshold
a girl
illegal immigrant
quite pretty, though a bit too thin
he winks at her
she lets him in
she’s annoyed by the heat
of his brown eyes
staring at her naked breast
she shudders at the lust with which
he squashes her like a cross beneath him
his inquisitive fingers hurt her
searching inside her
impatient
immodest
she imagines he wishes to overthrow
dominate
another continent
and she’d love to tell him
tell him about
Biet Gabriel
Sawa
Kassala
Khartum
Al-Kufrah
Awjilah
Benghazi
As Sultan
Tripoli
and the heartlessness of the sea
what does he care?
he cares only
for her cheap flesh
and when he’s finished
going in and out on top of her
her black eyes
scalding his brown ones
her voice a thorn
– Fawzia –
she tells him
– my name is Fawzia –
they gave me a brand-new passport
told me I was now Maltese –
© Translation: 2025, Albert Gatt
