…when the kids yell
tender corners don’t find us
by the quay
the dead facades of beautiful buildings
don’t seek the shape of our polite bodies
yesterday’s display windows are
an insult to us
we leave the same as always
we depart for a foreign land
rhythm isn’t our goal anymore
the goal has escaped out of our door
in the churches, the chandeliers are turned off
and the candelabras that light the icons
the women’s quarters vanish in darkness
into which women frequented
and before the altar the big candle
starts the vigil
however, we are called by the foreign lands
and as soon as dawn comes
we depart for the foreign land
the hat maker matches feathers and live birds
fresh flowers on the hats
the postman is tired of his come-and-go
the milkman prepares
the evening yogurts
and the beautiful virgin still knits by the window
in a while, she will let her needle down
and place in her curly hair the crown of grief
as she is about to drink in one gulp
the poison she has prepared since morning…
Libros Libertad 