Sainte-victoire

I am naked before the mirror
My shoulders are broad
And my body is robust, still young
My eyes linger on my hips
On my taut stomach, then fix on my almost flat chest

On my left breast, a scar
Because it is still purplish
Because one can discern the tissues
Just regenerated, the torn flesh
Because under the finger, its relief
Still swollen, one can tell
That the wound is recent

It throbs like a nerve
Yet when the finger runs over the wound
It is no longer painful
One does not die of love even
When one believes oneself drained and withered like an old fruit
Even when one believes
That all strength has left us

One recovers from everything
The heart regenerates like a lizard's tail
One lies on one's back, ready to let go
When suddenly a jolt electrifies the body
The blood resumes its work, returns to beat
Against the Temples, irrigating the organs and the numb lower abdomen

We startle to feel alive, alive despite everything
We are surprised to regain our color
The desire to live is irresistible
To recover from this sorrow, to recover

From this pain is to be able to face anything
You allowed me to understand that I was invincible
Victorious whatever the outcome
I am armed to the teeth
Beneath my breast, a grenade