Recuerdo tantas cosas crueles de mi niñez
que las reprimo

me ayuda la desviación de temas
hacia el saludo rutinario
las distracciones comunes
un vídeo porno
dos comidas gourmet al día
un buen libro.


Night Walk
By Franz Wright

The all-night convenience store’s empty
and no one is behind the counter.
You open and shut the glass door few times
causing a bell go off,
but no one appears. You only came
to buy a pack of cigarettes, maybe
a copy of yesterday’s newspaper-
finally you take one and leave
thirty-five cents in its place.
It is freezing, but it is a good thing
to step outside again:
you can feel less alone in the night,
with lights on here and there
between the dark buildings and trees.
Your own among them, somewhere.
There most be thousands of people
in this city who are dying
to welcome you into their small bolted rooms,
to sit you down and tell you
what has happend to their lives.
And the night smells like snow.
Walking home, for a moment
you almost belive you could start again.
And an intense love rushes to your heart,
and hope. It’s unendurable, unendurable.

(Este poema fue transcrito especialmente para la querida compañera y fiel lectora de Estruendomudo, Anne R. Thillet de Montesdeoca, desde los parajes nevados de San Juan a los de La Habana, en solidaridad con las causas perdidas, el burgui revisitado y las cajitas de boniato, con un beso y un abrazo que ruesmen la actitud posmo-antibloqueo. Ella sabe.)

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