Nakhtsobek: I Passed Her House Befogged

I Passed Her House Befogged

I passed her house befogged.
     I knocked. It was not opened
to me. A wonderful night
     for our keeper of the door!
Bolt, I’ll open you!
     Door, you are my death,
an evil spirit for me.
     We’ll slaughter an ox inside.
O door, do not expend
     your wrath that sacrifice
of oxen be made to your bolt,
     fatlings to your threshold,
a plump goose to your posts,
     to your lintel an oriole.
Every succulent piece
     of our ox we will save
for Ptah, the carpenter lad,
     that he may make us a bolt
of reeds, a door of palm.
     Then the brother can come
and discover an open house,
     a bed, spread with linen
of delicate weave, and a pretty
     little maidservant too,
who will say to me
     “..the mayor.”

Translated by Barbara Hughes Fowler

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