translated by Karen Van Dyck

Not me, not my face
not what’s hiding
under my shirt.
I speak up though I know my voice
will drown in the icebox
where frozen animals
hang.
Who cares if it exists or not.
In the racket I raise my hands
to the heavens.
How beautiful the angels are
dead
with their sad eyes watching us.

    My sorrow is a woman, Poema, Athens, 2012