Juggling Urban Psychosis
The cage has turned into a bird
and it has flown away
my heart has lost its mind
– Alejandra Pizarnik
We set free birds of anger into the wind
filled with wet nights and dark dawns.
Streets pour smoke and turn into a sacred tomb
while newspapers twirl among us, and we eat ravings.
Car horns deafen my death.
In the rambling verses written on a wall,
blood throbs like a traffic light.
I am the barefoot whore.
hurt until they burn.
They come and go, spitting semen that pay for the hit of the day
and then they disappear,
pedaling unicycles of status quo.
We go outside, burdened by mournings
hypnotized by red-and-blue nightmares
that echo through the step-filled alley
stained with leftovers of Chinese food.
Meanwhile Old San Juan ex-politicians
get up as early as graffiti artists,
They light up and inhale psychedelic applause.
We keep dying between newspapers and our own steps,
inevitably loving the scent of the city,
falling into the void just like birds of anger.
Requiem for My Shadow Girl
After the storm,
then came silence
and its explosion.
A dessert of shadows closed its doors.
Then it rained.
We lit up our debris
but then had to turn our backs to the light.
We opened our eyes
and then a world of eyes emerged over San Juan
pain fell upon the back of the Poet
like petals over a child’s face
– a woman laughed her last teardrop –
and Shadow Girl picked up corks from the street
to draw her dreams over the remains
of her shipwreck
goodbye my Shadow Girl
farewell to you and to the latches that guarded
bedsheets never used by you.
Still, we reached the city
wings flapped as we arrived
(my daughter died);
they were so many,
we mistook them for crucified daisies.
The sea fed from exiles and fear,
it took them all away, all of them and their misery.
It also returned our gazes.
And then, it dawned . . .
Translations from the Spanish