Poetry from NER 43.4 (2022)
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translated from the Spanish by Edith Adams
It’s hard to say:
is this a tapir
or
is this fear
I can’t decide
if the image existed
in this universe
of things
Because
tapir and fear
lay outstretched
in repose
to the eclipse prior
to their words
Just as I was also myself
before the creation of this poem
We carry traces of blood stamped
upon gold and brown skin
A painting that sketches
the map of the stars
—that is our language—
Not a word that imitates
but a figure that’s traced
A frenzy of vultures wait till we fall
How many sisters have fallen
already?
I look toward the hills:
black clouds and plantations
We don’t have a marching band
but once it rained fish
I ask myself what would’ve happened
if they
had never
arrived
They?
He?
Which
word
to name
Which
land
to maim
I don’t know if we are
catastrophe
or the dream of the absent
bird