Friday, July 31, 2009

Some poems of my unpublished book, Sepia

Your Name

When I say your name,
I want to say memory,
I want to say tenderness,
a smooth blanket in sleep time,
tired eyes but always alert.

When I pronounce your name I evoke
coffee “recién colao” recently brewed,
rice with green pigeons peas,
savory vegetables in the stew,
pork legs with chick peas,
the cake married with the cold milk,
the orange candies stuck in your teeth and gums,
the movie that gave you nightmares and the usual insistence
to sleep with you after.

When I say your name,
I smell Maja powder, pond cream, final touch softener, Avon perfume, Dove soap,
I smell cilantro, cilantrillo, garlic, onion
I smell “sofrito”.

When I say your name I think in your black eyes almost blind,
of your white hair without dye,
of your wrinkles,
of your big ears, of your falling butt,
and your long eyebrows,
of your legs full of varicose veins,
in the time you used to say they were fat and beautiful legs,
and I think of your tailored dresses
made with the fabrics of la Tienda Paco,
of your black shoes polished with griffin.

I think about you,
happy with a clear mind again,
with organized memories,
with your whispers to calm my tears,
with the saying “what matter is that I love you”
I think of you without insanity, curses, and bad words,
in the time when we had innocence already,
I think about you with eternal love,
eternal like memories.

I think about you as the most beautiful thing in my life.
when I say tenderness, love, support, feelings, memories and bonds,
I want to say grandmother,
I want to say Mercedes.


To Carmen Luisa, my recurrent chimera

The skin still hurts
like wounds exposed to sea salt.
I would give my life to overcome the superimposed distances,
looking to engrave on the bone of my ring finger that love isn’t enough
that twin souls don’t always have happy endings,
that hell is filled of good intentions,
that an ellipses don’t necessarily mean a certain continuity,
that maybe they are repeating final periods,
up front is the stubbornness of betting on a common future,
that is chimera, mirage.

The Return

I want to return on a September colored afternoon,
fall leaves crushing under my shoes,
the silence of white church candles.

1 comment:

  1. Dear Awilda, these are so beautiful and moving. I wish you great success with your book. May I publish them in a humble and simple, but beloved publication? See here: and tell me if I may. Thanks for sharing!