You stride through the desert
to her sweet-smelling tent; you’re shown the way
by a twinkling star. You arrive barefoot,
carrying all you still have
after three husbands: a box
full of jewels and varicose veins all over your body,
outside and in. Slowly you begin your story,
of how you were married
always in sun-bright gowns. You longed
to be a tree by the river
that yearly bears precious fruit
and its leaves will never fade. Well,
they dried up. Where is your river?
You ask, why
things were so with you all.
But she is silent. With a little key she opens
a small chest made of pure hammered gold,
takes out a slender leather-bound book
and hands it to you
hidden there is (they say) the eternal secret
of woman.
English Translation: John Minahane