It is strange that my old teacher has just
Left my house,
And commented congratulating on all the little things
I have done to spruce up this place for
Alma:
That I have bought this house for her and turned it into
A grotto for our Lady of Guadalupe,
And I have dreams at night now of a sixteen year old leaving the
Streets of Guerrero,
Pregnant with her son Michael, traveling through the bastilles of
Forests,
And the deciduous mangroves ululating with fat-winged
Butterflies and pig-headed conquistadors
Or in the very least their cenotaphs:
But this brown girl is in another world, resting her head beside
The heads of her children on the other side of the highway,
While I am tucked in between the waves,
And the airplanes roar like gentlemanly beasts;
And now I think that I am in a graveyard where I am the only
Thing that will ever lie buried.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem