En este espejo

regreso a mi misma

un rostro

cuerpo

mío

segundos de piel

minutos de desamor

horas  de tragedias

calles sucias

otros avatares

un barco en pos del horizonte

un jardín

y tus flores

instantes

libros

papel

un  perfume

desarraigándome

el cigarrillo

y un vaso de whiskey

un piano que suena

amores tempranos

y la lejanía

tenemos canciones

para todos los momentos.

OH 2010

........

In this mirror

I return to myself

a face

body

mine

seconds of skin

minutes of failed love

hours of tragedy

dirty streets

other fates

a boat along the horizon

a garden

and your flowers

instants

books

paper

a scent

uprooting me

a cigarette

and a glass of whiskey

a piano playing early loves

and the distance

we have songs

for every moment.

OH 2010

........

Cosas del pasado

Eras el rey del “debes” y del “tienes que”

Yo la peor de tus súbditos

En ese inestable reino

De noches de luna

Desparramándose sobre las ventanas

O en un mar de verano

Sujeta a voces lejanas

Sorda a tu insistencia

Hacía malabarismos con nuestros días

Desarraigaba palabras

Andaba por la cuerda floja

La visión distorsionada era la norma

Antes del último acto

Un rompecabezas sin todas las piezas

Perdidas aún.

Frases decoradas

Sugiriendo un camino mejor

-aunque “sugerir” y tu no os hablabais-

La vajilla no se rompió

Sólo pedazos de ti

Sólo pedazos de mí

Por el suelo

Al final del día.

OH 2010

........

Things From the Past

You were the king of “must” and “have to”

I the worst of your subjects

In that unsteady kingdom

Of moon nights

Spilling over windows

Or into a summer sea

Clinging to distant voices

Deaf to your insistence

I juggled our days

Uprooted words

Walked the tightrope

Distorted vision was the norm

Before the final act

A puzzle with missing pieces

That remain lost

Decorated  sentences

Suggesting a better path

Although “suggesting” and you

Were not on speaking terms

No broken crockery

Just bits of you

Just bits of me

On the floor

At the end of the day

OH 2010

........

Ayer

Que rescataría de mi infancia:

Animales

Árboles

Flores

Cuervos y otros pájaros

El olor del mar y los pinos

Al atardecer

Polvo y arena entre los dedos de los pies

Libros

Otras vidas

En una pantalla

Lejos de mí

Y nada más.

Yesterday

What I would save from my childhood:

Animals

Trees

Flowers

Crows and other birds

The smell of pines and the sea

At sunset

Dust and sand between my toes

Books

Other lives on a screen

Far away from mine

And nothing else.

OH

........

Letter to a Failed Artist

Dear X

We have studied your case with the utmost attention and reached the conclusion that you are right: your presence in this world it’s no longer necessary. You have no love, children or a dog to bark your absence.

You have no job, and your dreams of perfecting yourself in the art of painting have hit the rocks due to the price of materials. We are aware that food comes before Art if you want to keep on breathing, and although we sympathise we can see that daubing the walls in tomato juice won’t take you very far.

We understand that the act of praying for help has become pathetic to you. You see, we don’t help anyone to win the lottery or put a lover on their doorstep. We don’t get involved with your life and the decisions you make are only your affair. The most we can do is to give you strength to keep on going or seep some inspiration into your head if, for a moment, you put all those negative thoughts, which prevent the moving in of more profitable ones, to one side.

We know you have tried everything, and that there are things in your past determining the way you confront reality. It was not our business then and it is not our business now.

As we said, you are the master of your destiny, the one who decides; therefore we leave to you the way you choose to terminate your contract with this plane.

If you get scared and cower we can send you an unexpected accident by inspiring some other desperado near you. There are plenty.

Something clean and fast, since iit is obvious to us that your suffering is of no benefit to others either.

Hoping to see you soon

McFate. 

(Signature borrowed from Vladimir Nabokov)

OH

........

The Minutes

furious

face

crumbling

fingers flipping pages

unseen by open eyes

looking for an answer

stilling thoughts

with a hammer

radar ears detecting

some signal

from uncooperative

walls hiding

promises of steps

never reaching

her door

the creaking bones of the elevator

stopping on another floor.

OH

........