Palanga Stintas 2015

And in Palanga today one can find smelts baked or smoked,
dried, singing, dancing, metal, molar and amber, or tasty

fish soup, for today is Palanga Stintas and the little fish
give themselves up unwillingly but in great numbers

and the good people dress in their winter finery and walk
all the way down Basanavi?iaus Gatveje to the great

L-shaped pier, crowded like hens in a run or fish in
a weir, the young and the old, lovers and grim couples

and somewhat happy families and pairs of girls
almost too young to be on their own. We all walk

between the fish stands and the vendors selling fur hats
and amber necklaces and cups and pots and soup

and karšas vynas, the warmed red wine, and Svyturas
in big glasses, eight black coats and then a blue one,

eight more and a yellow, nine more and a sudden pink,
strollers with weary toddlers moaning and women

bearing inscrutable small dogs, all of us walking
together and apart, bumping and jostling, up the slope

of the barrier dune and down to the sea at last,
out along the beach where the dogs can run free,

out along the pier where the crowd thins at last,
where the long-haired women pose for their men

over and over, the obscure sea behind them,
the women smile and remember how beautiful

they are even in winter, even in their black tights
and black coats zipped high against the wind.