Adélia Prado


I’m singled out by the blanks between sleep
tucked into pre-dawn,
Gethsemane hour.
These visions are raw and clear,
sometimes peaceful,
sometimes pure terror
without the bone structure
daylight provides.
The soul descends to hell,
death throws its banquet.
Until everyone else wakes up
and I can sleep,
The devil eats his fill.
Not-God grazes on me.

Original title “A Treva,” from O Pelicano, p.37
Translated by Ellen Doré Watson