La Casa Encantada

La penumbra la envuelve, la encontré sin buscar.

Los arboles la protegían.

Pensé que era mi hogar.

Entre sigilosa, con miedo de despertar a aquello que dormía.

Olor a moho y polvo, paredes sin pintar, arañas habitando esquinas.

Algo roza mi pelo, siento mi mano apretar, susurros al oído.

Palabras de amor sin piedad.

Pasillos oscuros, habitaciones desiertas.

Sillones cubiertos, espejos que no miran.

Una casa en eterna espera.

El tiempo fue pasando, aquellos muros me retenían.

¿Cómo escapar?

¡Yo no encontré la casa, ella me atrajo a sí!

Paso horas en la ventana viendo a los vivos pasear.

Libertad jamás fue mía, la casa me vino a buscar.

De vez en cuando, un pensamiento;

fugaz, confuso, del tiempo que pasa rápido en esta casa.

Miro a través de la ventana, no existo.

Menopause

I keep weeding the garden; no blood flows from me.

My partner’s stomach looks like Buda’s.  I have his smile.

From the café the aroma of coffee reaches me; 

I taste the dirt covering my hands.

I am a good companion; I cook, clean and care for. 

I have nowhere to go in which to wear my red high heels. They sit forgotten in a box.

He stabs my hand with his fork; it’s just another memory.

I laugh with freedom.

Overweight women crowd my genes.  I eat aubergine´s and paint my nails purple.

If you could go back, they ask, what age would you choose?

Eight.  I do not hesitate.

Warnings Never Uttered

Must I ask permission for wandering afar?

Away in to the mountains where there is only green.

To lie upon a small blanket, like the child who sees

but understands not what lies before me.

The branches hold me down; the moss makes me slip.

I see a bear observe me while I disappear into the mists.

Mists made of fine fabric, created to make me blind,

to cover my sinful nakedness.

To lose my way at every turn and find myself again by your side.

I scream every time I see you.  Is there no end to this pain?

You taught me to shoot, hunt and build a fire,

but never of what came through the mist of puberty holding out its hand.

You never said, you never warmed, about man.

Sunny´s Song

My feet can´t move

There is no more groove        

My days filled with shadows

And nights drinking booze

Sing a sad song with me

Late into the night

Buddy, hold me tight

That I might remember what

 Love was like                                                           
My man done left me                                   

By the Mississippi banks

He´s gone on the ferry

Without a backwards glance 

My man done left me

Booze is my lover now

It gives me comfort

When I´m feeling down

I sing my sad song

All the through the night

My man done left me

And booze is my only light

I´m will be going soon

With my old guitar

I´ll rest when I get there

You can come along

And we´ll sing together

My bittersweet jazz song

Campos de Maíz

Vengo de un país de naturaleza violenta.

Vientos de tornados que arrasan con los sueños.

Tormentas de granizo que te hielan el corazón.

Lluvias que pudren las cosechas.

Truenos que espantan la alegría.

Otoños de frio y hojas muertas por el suelo.

Invierno de nieves huracanados que cortan el aliento.

Calor en verano que deja los sentimientos deshidratados.

Noches húmedas contando los pesares en vez de ovejas.

Vacas muertas por cazadores borrachos.

Ciervos que huyen heridos entre la maleza.

Y a pesar de todas estas desgracias,

nos paramos a contemplar los campos de maíz.

Coffee Grinds

Coffee Grinds

I take the small chair and place it next to the stove,

every morning I sit and wait for the coffee to be done.

He says, when he wakes, that his first cup is the aroma in my hair.

I take the wet grinds out to the lemon tree.

I break them up with an old spoon and imbed them around the roots.

There is no one anymore to smell my hair in the morning.

I still sit in my wooden chair waiting for the coffee to be done,

tears drying on my cheeks from the heat on the stove.