This hotel is an old school,
you can feel it despite the time.
Despite the torn down walls,
the broken spaces. Those who live here
seem to be passing through. A few hours
a day. A couple months.
No doubt
they’ve got their own rooms,
but they give the impression they constantly change them.
For some time I’ve been looking for my room in the ruins,
for who knows how long. And now
I’m out in what might have been a garden
or a sort of back patio.
From here, all the spaces are inverted.
Maybe I’ll recognize the physiognomy of my room
in reverse. Or know it at once
through some sound
Translations of “Comenzaron a llamarte,” “Los cuartos no son como deben ser,” and “Entre estas ruinas.” From Firefly under the Tongue. Copyright 2008 by New Directions. By arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
