My Time Is Brief - Solveig von Schoultz

The holy disquiet knocked at my door.
‘I haven’t the time, I’m baking my bread,
the dough is rising, the oven is red.
Wait, as you’ve had to wait before.’

The holy disquiet went from my door.

The holy disquiet tried my lock.

‘Don’t come near me, my child is fresh,
It’s sucking my blood, my marrow, my flesh.
Leave me alone with my son, I say.’

The holy disquiet went away.

The holy disquiet stood in my house.

‘The chimney is smoking, haven’t you seen?
I’m sweeping my neighbour’s kitchen clean.
My children are crying. But nice you should call.’

The holy disquiet turned from my hall.

The holy disquiet sat by my bed.

‘Oh, is it you? I’m too tired now,’ I said.
‘I would have loved you young or dead.
Was there something you wanted? My time is brief.’

The holy disquiet left, trembling with grief.

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Solveig von Schoultz (1907 - 1996) Sweden
Translated by David McDuff