THE LIFT OPERATOR
They leave the houses and go to the marketplace or
in the cafes and the houses remain empty and heavy
and the old heaters remain in the houses like old
scorched women who have forgotten their last fairy
tale: and the exhaust pipes of the heater are choked
by smoke like black larynxes, wide larynxes of the past
years, built in the wall like the people’s larynxes, humble
or are proud that ache or are hungry, fall in love, dream,
sacrifice or get sacrificed, built into the wall. They don’t
buzz, they don’t smoke; the silence of the house finds
refuge there, during the spring, hunted by the sun, since
silence has quietened down for a few months now, but
sometimes the pipes yell in the night, prompted by the wind
as if they applaud another fire that is coming.
Libros Libertad 