Marina Tsvetaeva
Magdalene to Christ

I

Ten commandments between us:
the fever of ten bonfires.
One’s own blood recoils.
You be my other blood.

In the times of the gospel
I’d have been one of those…
(The blood of another is the most desired
and the most other of all!)

I’d have — with all my infirmities —
been captivated, would have lain myself to you, how bright
your pelt! Would have hidden in this demon’s flaxen dross,
would have poured these oils

onto your feet (I would), and beneath your feet (I would),
and just so, into the sands…
Your passion sold to merchants,
spat out everywhere — o flow!

Like the froth on my lips and the scum
after sinter and then all our
blisses… so into my hair I’ll wind
your feet, as if into furs.

Like cloth beneath your feet
I’ll lay myself… Aren’t you that man (that woman!),
the one who implored the beast with curls aflame:
Rise, sister!

Translated by Caroline Lemak Brickman