X-Rays

Benjamin Fondane

1937

I

Work, tradesmen, shops, the town is there
with old maids polished down by emptiness
on haberdashers’ threshold where the antique sun
brushes off jewels dusty with being looked at.
Dressed up for Sunday, O doll with no navel,
you try out one by one your tools of reverie:
ribbons, combs, creams, rosaries, glass trinkets,
used witches’ brooms.
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