Menu

Poetry

God does not give me peace. God is my goad.
He bites my heel like a snake,
makes himself verb, meat, glass shard,
stone against which my head bleeds.
I cannot rest in this love.
I cannot sleep in the light of this eye fixed on me.
I want to return to my mother’s womb,
her hand flat against her bloated belly,
hiding me from God.

Translated from the Portuguese by Jessica Goudeau


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Access one piece of artwork every month for free! To experience the full archive, log in or subscribe.

Related Poetry

Mappamundi Ouroboros

By

Bruce Beasley

The Yes

By

Franz Wright

rich blue sky with a brighter blue in the center, ringed by darker jewel blue tones. arctic birds fly across the sky, their white bodies punctuating the sky.

Greater Solitude

By

Cintio Vitier

Fishguard Harbour  

By

G.C. Waldrep

Pin It on Pinterest