Oh, my sisters,
I have seen heaven
and know the meaning of life.
Our pleasure-pain,
our redemption in white,
the product of our bodies given freely,
that which falls away from us
passes down these chutes to a wondorous place.
Our offspring gather of their own accord.
Not yet born,
they roll together on a highway
through yon blessed archway.
There I saw a place of great commotion.
I think it was heaven
or the prelude to heaven.
Our offspring march and move by thousands together.
They are washed,
the sinners separated and broken by unknown trials.
Beings attend them.
Shouting "A qui" and "Que tal," they sweat over our darlings.
There is a great gathering together in nests of cunning design,
colored bright blue or yellow or pink.
Each holds twelve, a divine number.
And in vessels square and boxy they are borne beyond.
Whither I know not, only that it is cold there.
I have seen heaven and know the meaning of our lives.
We produce offspring for heaven
a dozen at a time.
