The Stars and the Cookie Jar

Holy translit, Batman, I have to be awake again in four hours, and now I'm amped on academic perversity and different kinds of hunger and OMG such a love poem, this, who was she fooling?

Untitled, Raissa Gellerman, signed GRS, ca. 1943. Trans. me, 2004.
Bitokh ikh undser herts gebrokh,
in dieser tog broyklikh.
Shprayken Sie sikh fun di levoyne,
un - hob ikh nikht keyn shpeygel -
ikh gukhe mikh in di gleßene gaß.
Sie'st shoyn shpeygelbildglikh,
in dieser tog grayslikh,
eydetelikh un sharfe vi di glays.
Los'n Sie nisht arayn fun mayn
kleyne, shvayge hant....

[Raissa had a definite soft, Germanised turn to her Yiddish, the mark of a very snobby education; in her own translit, she uses s and scharfes-S, which pops up in the middle of her bloody Hebrew hand, as above. On the bright side, it makes it very easy to pick her work from a stack of moldy paper.]

Literally:
I take our broken hearts in stride
in these broken days,
You tell yourself to the moon
and -- I have no mirror --
I stare at myself in the glassy street.
You are an image of yourself from the mirror,
in these dire days;
clear and sharp as a shard of glass.
Don't cut when you slip from my small, silent hand.

All right, a real poet, have a go now. Andrea, Sonya, that's you.
I gave you the translit, I gave you the literal; you want lightly-poached eggs and delicately browned toast, too, while I'm at it? It's about two women going slowly crazy in a small room, one of you ought to be able to take a decent swing where I cannot. Tell Kallimachos and Beowulf to bang off; perhaps together; they might enjoy it. Who am I to say?
{ducks}