Rachel Korn | Poems | I'M COLD MOMMA

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RACHEL KORN / GRIEF POEMS / I'M COLD MOMMA

I’m Cold Momma
Translated by Seymour Levitan

I’m cold, momma-
it must be the damp of your grave,
where your heart
with a German bullet at the very center of it
feeds the roots of trees
in secret betrothal.

Even in dreams I can’t find the way
to those thick woods.

Is there a path
worn by cowherds
or children
gathering nuts?

Or would a bird know the way
that would say-
Watch over your daughter,
keep her from going down
to the black kingdom
where tears are traded
for a smile that twists,
and a scream
cuts its wrists
to keep from hearing its voice.

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