Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Kim Hyesoon

RED SCISSOR-WOMAN

beside that woman walking out
of the gynecologist’s office
is an old woman holding an infant
 
that woman’s legs are like scissors
as she walks through snow
 
but what did she cut out
when she screamed last night, lifting each blade-
blades that swelled like fat, dark clouds?
red twilight rushing out between her legs
 
this morning after the storm
the sky keeps ripping open
a flash of light following the woman
as she waddles along
Heaven's white door opens – then closes
 
how scared God must have been
each time she had a red body cut
from between her legs,
that woman who ate all the fruit
from the tree he planted
 
a wound forms in the sky on mornings
when a red head is clipped out from
between that cloud’s fat, red legs
 
(does that blood live inside me?)
(do I live inside that blood?)
 
that woman walking ahead,
tearing through her cold shadow with her red body
that woman walking
 
inside her is a white mirror like a freezer
with a sticky wave of slow, red blood
it is filled with swimming infants
like a morning sea, teeming with fish

DE VROUW MET DE RODE SCHAAR


naast de vrouw die bij gynaecologie naar buiten komt
houdt een oude vrouw een klein kind in de armen
 
de benen van de vrouw lijken wel een schaar
haar tred knipt gehaast het besneeuwde pad uiteen
 
maar de schaarbenen zijn papperig als vette regenwolken
afgelopen nacht stak de vrouw gillend haar twee schaarbenen
in de hoogte, wat knipte ze toen –
tussen twee benen waaruit een bloedrode schemering gutste
 
de hemel splijt telkens weer de ochtend na de sneeuwstorm
een heldere lichtflits die pijn doet aan de ogen
gaat de waggelende vrouw achterna
de oogverblindende deksel van de hemel gaat open en dicht
 
hoe bang moet God wel zijn geweest
toen de vrouw die al het fruit van de boom
die God had geplant opat
een voor een de rode lichamen
van tussen de benen wegsneed
 
toen tussen de twee vette rode benen van die wolk
van die hemel van die wonde die elke ochtend opengaat
het rode hoofd werd losgeknipt
 
(leeft dat bloed in mij?)
(leef ik in dat bloed?)
 
die vrouw die voorop loopt
die vrouw die in haar loop met gloeiend lichaam
de koude schaduw uiteenrijt
 
als in een ochtendlijke zee vol vis
zwemmen talloze pasgeboren baby’s
in de kleverige traag plonzende golven van rood bloed
in de spiegel wit als een sneeuwpakhuis in het lichaam van de vrouw 

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RED SCISSOR-WOMAN

beside that woman walking out
of the gynecologist’s office
is an old woman holding an infant
 
that woman’s legs are like scissors
as she walks through snow
 
but what did she cut out
when she screamed last night, lifting each blade-
blades that swelled like fat, dark clouds?
red twilight rushing out between her legs
 
this morning after the storm
the sky keeps ripping open
a flash of light following the woman
as she waddles along
Heaven's white door opens – then closes
 
how scared God must have been
each time she had a red body cut
from between her legs,
that woman who ate all the fruit
from the tree he planted
 
a wound forms in the sky on mornings
when a red head is clipped out from
between that cloud’s fat, red legs
 
(does that blood live inside me?)
(do I live inside that blood?)
 
that woman walking ahead,
tearing through her cold shadow with her red body
that woman walking
 
inside her is a white mirror like a freezer
with a sticky wave of slow, red blood
it is filled with swimming infants
like a morning sea, teeming with fish

RED SCISSOR-WOMAN

beside that woman walking out
of the gynecologist’s office
is an old woman holding an infant
 
that woman’s legs are like scissors
as she walks through snow
 
but what did she cut out
when she screamed last night, lifting each blade-
blades that swelled like fat, dark clouds?
red twilight rushing out between her legs
 
this morning after the storm
the sky keeps ripping open
a flash of light following the woman
as she waddles along
Heaven's white door opens – then closes
 
how scared God must have been
each time she had a red body cut
from between her legs,
that woman who ate all the fruit
from the tree he planted
 
a wound forms in the sky on mornings
when a red head is clipped out from
between that cloud’s fat, red legs
 
(does that blood live inside me?)
(do I live inside that blood?)
 
that woman walking ahead,
tearing through her cold shadow with her red body
that woman walking
 
inside her is a white mirror like a freezer
with a sticky wave of slow, red blood
it is filled with swimming infants
like a morning sea, teeming with fish
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