The nail-biter

From loose ends she’d secretly
treated herself to, the little sweaty one,
Hastily and quickly and everywhere

At my mouth, ate of herself
As a punishment and could not
escape herself.

Her strong fingers, mauled, uncared
The varnish she then used to wear,

The rodent of her fear
Lay down in my hand.

Until she fell asleep,
For years, next to something my own
A winter hideout for squirrels
With their quick sharp paws.

When she recovered, I painted them colour-blind;
She, in hurrying out
Suddenly curbed by the perfect,

Laid them on my arm
And seized me deep-red
In the eyes.

Translation by John Irons.