Tomorrow Triumphant

IT HURTS LESS BEING ALONE
I believe
that it hurts less
to be alone
with your memory,
below this hard
sky,
below this thick
wind,
below sharp
glances
that ask:
“Why do your hands
suffer
in the afternoons?
Why don’t you come
without the blaze
of her distant
breast,
and enjoy yourself
with us?”

That would be
the power
to tie up one’s soul,
and renounce
forever
the place
where the wind
awaits me
caressing your hair.

Your know it.

With you
the world doesn’t fit
into my veins.
But without you
I’m extremely small
for this street
of grey lips.
Believe me, your absence burns,
my love,
and your memory hurts.
For example, now I am
the skeleton
of a house on fire
that aches
inside a well of ashes.
I scream: “Flames, take me
with you. Anywhere.
Don’t leave me singed
with rubbish.
Take me on your shoulders
because this calvaried memory
of birds singing
on my roof in the afternoons hurts me.”

And only smoke trails by
my hands
that plead without anyone listening.

It’s like this every day,
my love.

Believe me, my love,
your memory
hurts more
than my conquered solitude.

  • trans. by Juan Felipe Herrera