Going Down
Slowly, he gets used to it. He knows the soil and its smell
when it’s wet in the evening, when it’s dry at noon,
when they plough when they dig behind the fence wall.
Little spiders saunter on the table, on his papers, and on his clothes.
If one of them climbs up to his mouth, he tightens his lips
and pushes it away. He doesn’t want to think further. He looks
out of the window: a pregnant woman walks along the field.
She steadies herself on the wild olive tree, and after she pukes,
she leaves.
Libros Libertad 