Note: All of the poems in this sequence were originally written in K’iche’.
Laughter
The laughter of the waves
is the foam.
To My Grandfather
My grandfather’s steps
are done;
he has walked so much.
Now the earth moves
little by little
beneath his feet
so that he will be able
to approach the edge of the sun.
At Times
At times sleep deserts me
and lest I pass the night
turning over in bed
I go out to chat with the moon.
She tells me about the flower
that could turn into a butterfly
and the butterfly
that could turn into fire.
And I wake up
as if all of this
had been a dream.
Squirrels
If the squirrels
were to devour your eyes
Modigliani would
bring you to life
in one of his paintings.
Like the Leaves
Forgetting
is like leaves.
Some fall
others are born.
They stop being leaves
only when the tree
stops being a tree.
The Moon and the Feather
The moon
gave me a feather.
In my hand
it felt like singing.
The moon laughed
and told me
to learn to sing.
The Pool
There were many stars
in the pool;
I asked my father
to take them out.
He transferred the water
drop by drop
and put them in my hands.
At dawn
I wanted to see if
he had really taken them out.
And it was true,
the only thing left in the pool
was the sky.
The Vampire Bats
The vampire bats and I
were waiting for the coming
of the night
to play with the stars
on the patio of the moon.
Long Ago
It has been years, many years,
since cats learned to look after
little girls.
If some bothersome spirit comes near,
the cats bristle, give a jump,
and the evil spirits are gone.
All of the preceding poems in this sequence were originally published in Retoño salvaje, Editorial Praxis.
That Day
That day
she arrived with such force
that she destroyed
with one big blow
my loneliness.
What Are Those Things
— What are those things
that shine in the sky,
— I asked my mother.
— Bees, she answered
Every night since then,
my eyes eat honey.
The two preceding poems in this sequence were originally published in La Palabra Florida,Year 2, No. 4, p. 23, Mexico, Winter l997.
Memories
Now and then
I walk backwards.
It is my way of remembering.
If I only walked forward,
I could tell you
about forgetting.
This last poem in this sequence was originally published in Guchachi ‘Reza’ ‘Iguana Rajada,’ Revista de la Casa de la Cultura de Jugitin, Oaxaca, pp. 49-50, Quinta Epoca, Primavera de l995.
