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Let the aroma of need waft across the river to New Jersey: all the snow and hills, a sky that moves and moves. I saw a rose in the clouds, I saw happiness on fire.
Copyright 2005 by Pablo Medina, from Points of Balance/Puntos de apoyo. Reprinted with permission from Four Way Books. All rights reserved.
translated from the Spanish by Eloisa Amezcua and Pablo Medina
It smells of forest and it smells of sea.
Look how the vulture rises
on the ladder of the winds.
It smells of the woman who loved you
between sheets of abandon,
wrapped and beautiful, lethal as a knife.
Look how the lady with the parasol passes.
On the island, the cold moon is a mirror
of a snowfall at the end of the world,
so far from your womb,
so close to disdain.
translated by Eloisa Amezcua & Pablo Medina
The sun stung like never before. The fields of Matanzas
bright red. We drank water from the irrigation stream
like a sacramental act (thirst is like that), the clouds large
/sheets,
the cattle grazing, the buzz of flies
God likes to be played like a piano.
Dawn glows with sailors dancing in the eye of a storm
by the river of black water. These days
things make sense under the green and yellow
and brown sky of Granada and I wear a tie as penance
for the sins of my navel. The saints of the north
and the saints of the south fly by dropping scorpions
down my neck and those women
with fire in their eyes drink melon juice and wink.
I play billiards on the other side of town
thinking bone in and bone out is the legacy of canines.