She spends half of her life in bed, just to avoid
her body falling elsewhere.
When sleep comes, pain and love
need a new bed; she chooses rosewood.
For years, she has never been skilled in love and war;
she separates with men more than with herself.
On her favorite beds of pine, birch or camphor woods,
she lays flat, and keeps on lowering,
until giving up herself completely.
She imitates happy and painful looks,
closing her eyes like being dead;
indulging in lethargy, illness
and making love, like a dead.
Yet she would not refer her bedroom
as a grave.
Is there such a bed
that ever gives her rest? After middle age
she loves sleeping naked, longing to shrink
into an infant.
About the author:
Xue Nü is a poet, writer and photographer. She is the
author of several collections for essay and poetry.
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