God Hid His Face
Selected Poems of RAJZEL ZYCHLINSKY
 
On Sunny Days
 
On sunny days 
I am drawn to the cellars, 
dark, black. 
White, pale fingers sprout 
from overripe potatoes; 
hairy, shadowy forests 
from human skulls
deep, hollow sockets that were eyes 
and still long 
for the sun, for light. 
On sunny days 
I step carefully, 
with only a single step 
between me 
and the abyss.
 
Translated by Joseph Leftwich

Back to library

Back to
Back to Shtetl