The Dead House
And when, at dawn, the garbage collector passes by
at the distant suburb, their distant bell echoes onto
all the glass of metal utensils, the bronze bed legs,
the frames of pictures of our relatives, on the little
bells of the Pierrot outfit, which our little brother
had worn one joyous masquerade night, and when
we returned home we got scared; a few dogs barked
at us, my dress got caught on the fence, I ran to catch up
with the others, the moon glued its face perfectly
on mine, I couldn’t walk anymore, and the others were
calling me from behind the trees and the glass beads
of the others were heard in a different space and
the glass fringes of the stars far away, over
the invisible Myrton Sea and when I finally caught up
they all, being bemused, looked at me because
my face gleamed as if painted by gold dust
they used to paint the hanging dining room lamps or
the living room mirrors with their trendy engraved
consoles.
Libros Libertad 