In the hand which I write I hold an open hole again

(poem 31 of 32)

Tomorrow I shall give birth to my baby
Tomorrow I shall write the poem which belongs to tomorrow
And shall bring it as an offering, a pauper's sacrifice
To rinse a feeling of guilt
The sudden break has shocked my body
And from this I have learned the concept of gradualness
In order to not break the bones of the psyche

Hello father, mother, to whom do I write
Whom do I keep in my mind to be a significant figure
I send you poems written by hand ---

The dream, which I did not dream, abandons me
(Lines that I threw away and remember not their beauty)
I have nothing to save ---
Any draft of a city that is worth modifying
For example, an inner and heated space. What am I doing?

To vomit poverty from the consciousness
And afflict my soul with fasting ---

Translated from the Hebrew by the author, © 1996 Ella Bat-Tsion,