lo que pasó

the way out is slippery
through landscapes crisp and blinding white
slick pale cardboard walls that
silence me,
impassive in their stillness and their angles,
smooth
as wedding cake.

No me acuerdo
de la primera cachetada,
ni del primer empujón.
No supe a qué hora
se fue él
olvidando
de nuestra gran pasión de novios,
del respeto que me había guardado.
Se me pasó el momento
en que me empezó a odiar.

What i remember
most
is sadness, desperation:
waiting at the window for something
that never came.
The pain
of blows and insults in exchange
for my adoration;
but
the relief of being
such a good
good girl
(la mejor esposa,
madre
mujer de principios, recogida
en su casa)
brought tranquility.

Each hand that holds mine now
is pale and clammy,
no better than bruises
on my papery skin.
The faces are easy to confuse.

It is hard to walk alone through each
sticky embrace filling
one white-hot second
in a cold infinity

Fierce echoes line
the path
like lilies.

i have heard that no love is ever completely
cured,
tears the beginning of an infinite
insatiable emptiness
that we recall
each time.

02.2005