Love At First SightWislawa Szymborska
They're both convinced
that a sudden passion joined them.
Such certainty is beautiful,
but uncertainty is more beautiful still.
Since they'd never met before, they're sure
that there'd be nothing between them.
But what's the word from the streets, staircases, hallways --
perhaps they've passed by each other a million times?
I want to ask them
if they don't remember --
a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
perhaps a "sorry" muttered in a crowd?
a curt "wrong number" caught in the receiver --
but I know the answer.
No, they don't remember.
They'd be amazed to hear
that Chance had been toying with them
now for years.
Not quite ready yet
to become their Destiny.
It pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.
There were signs and signals,
even if they couldn't read them yet.
Perhaps three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished
into childhood's thicket.
There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
Suitcases checked and side by side.
One night, perhaps the same dream,
grown hazy by morning.
Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.
Translated from Polish by
Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh
The End and the Beginning, 1993
