December’s Ruler

December is a straight ruler, very straight,

and broken in its straightness. A break

hidden in its fracture, a break that

sees silence from its fracture.

And wind, and what groans below a ruler,

and speaking, and tomorrow—January—January—will

come along a past path. A path that smells

of spices, sugar, coffee, tobacco. Tobacco

that would make you cry all the way to the Strait of Malacca.

Remember ships without rulers, remember the clop

of a horse carriage measuring your sorrow. About

December’s statement, very straight and broken

in its straightness. And wind. Wind that

embroiders time from its rift.

Recall wind above a ruler and wind

below a ruler. And those who embroider

the rift from break to break. A soul that changes

when time no longer follows movement: all

you’ve thrown remains in your hands. Break.

Recall above a ruler. All you’ve seen

remains in your eyes. Break. Recall

below a ruler. All you’ve said makes

your tongue like December bounding to

January. Recall pieces of December

that pick themselves up below a ruler

above a ruler. Break away from all

you’ve explained across from today.

December, December, a ruler that’s silence

within silence.

That’s straight and that’s broken. That measures

all fractures. That looks out at January

like the ruler measuring your heartbeat.

That’s not alone when it sees, when it sees a ruler

make fields of stars across from today.

Translated from Indonesian

Notes:

Source: Document Shredding Museum (World Poetry Books, 2024)