Marina Tsvetaeva
Girlfriend. 16. The first one to succeed me...

The first one to succeed me
took the prize by her beauty,
her curls shot through with red henna highlights,
her loveliness was touching
as the plaintive call of a Turkish flute;
she was dashing as the chime of hoof
striking sparks from stone road,
elegant as the nimble leap
of a slender rider from saddle—
a girl who shimmered with inner
iridescence, like a pearl.

The next one was somewhat different,
with fine, high, arching eyebrows,
sensuous as a pink silk
Bukharan carpet,
fingers covered in rings,
a beauty spot on her cheek,
brown skin and hair dyed blond,
dark and sparkling as London at midnight.

The third was someone you liked better still…

so what trace of me could remain
in that heart of yours, stranger?

Translated by Seraphina Powell