Jotamario Arbeláez Poems

The secret agents that pursued me are now in the same prison where
they planned to consign me
The girlfriends who abandoned me are now married with ragamuffins
...

a day
after the war
if there is a war
if after the war there is a day
...

The mailman is spinning his cap early on his bicycle today
The mailman who goes around delivering a host of information
Mailbox number eight is where the dog of my hope barks
Into that mailbox have fallen some of the most unjust excommunications and dead leaves
...

I live in a workers neighborhood, in an old house, in slippers,
and on the same table where my father at night
cuts the pants that he must have ready the next day
so that the nine of us can all sit at the dining table,
...

All my chilhood it rained.
The tall women in the family
fluttered between the wires
...