1
On the chest, where they operated,
a picture was tattooed.
An angel descending to its inversed sky,
outside, it was snowing.
Pushing the stone away, the angel
sat by the entrance to the cave.
It sank into the skew-eyed evening
light: good thing there’d been no birth.
Six months after the first operation
they cut open the stomach too. What the
chemo left on the veins, the aorta,
they took out the lymphoma.
It was cold in the operating room. She was freezing.
A needle squirted a dream into her.
She saw a hand for the last time,
fell into a narrow mantle, which was
filled with dense, egg-like light.
The angel waited in the corridor.
Group photographs of doctors on the walls. A nurse
at times clattered across the sick ward.
Hours went by like this. Awakening in intensive care.
Her stomach sliced open to the sternum.
You are beautiful, beautiful, the female likeness of my body,
enveloped in the palm of nothingness.
And the angel leaned above her.
And whispered in her ear:
Adonai, Elohim, Sebaoth.
Come back to the cave-night.
Translated by Ottilie Mulzet
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2
On her chest, where they operated,
a picture was tattooed: blue sky
with an angel turned upwards
and snowflakes beginning to fly.
The angel sat at the mouth of the cave,
a stone was rolled away. Into the skew-eyed
evening it slowly went sinking.
Good thing she was not with child.
Six months after the first operation
her stomach was cut open too.
Lymphoma left in her veins after chemo:
all this they had to do.
It was cold in the operating theatre.
A needle squeezed a dream into her; she froze.
Saw a hand, then the hand was no more,
and fell into a mantle, soft as a rose
filled with light; the most delicate light.
All this time, the angel waited in the corridor.
Group photos of doctors on the walls,
nurses clattering across the sick ward floor.
Awoke in intensive care after hours of this,
her stomach entirely split open like a pod
enveloped in the palm of emptiness.
Beautiful, beautiful female likeness of my body.
Then came the angel, whispering in her ear
Adonai, Elohim, Sabaoth; from a height
leaned over her, repeating:
Come back to the cave of the night.
Translated by Denis Hirson
