ORESTES (Excerpt)
And mother’s voice, daily and contemporary, and
correct, can verbalize, quite naturally, the most great
and most insignificant words, in their most valuable
meaning, like: a butterfly came through the window or
the world is unbearably beautiful, or a little more dye
was necessary for the linen towels or I can’t recall
a note from that fragrance of the night, and she laughs
perhaps to stop someone from laughing — this deep
understanding of hers and her tender lenience for
everyone and everything (almost disdain), I always
admired and was afraid of her conscious, high pride
mixing her little, smart, multifaceted laughter
with the light strike of a match and its flame when
she lighted the hanging light fixture of the dining room,
and she was there, lighted from down up, with the light
concentrated on her well-lined chin and her vibrating
nostrils which stopped breathing momentarily and
narrowed so as she’d remain here with us, she’d stand,
she’d stay motionless, so that she wouldn’t turn into
a stelae of light-blue smoke amid the breath of night,
so that the trees wouldn’t take her among their small
branches, so that she wouldn’t become the thimble
for a star’s endless embroidery —
Libros Libertad 