Mummies Of Old Guanajuato Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

I'm undertaking a modernist way
to say old phrases. They'll be gutted
with blood oozing on the parched dirt.

The reddish and thin desiccated
jagged fingers as rivulets snaking
between the coagulated sand molecules.

I'll write that death must've been slow.
Cholera you know. I presume that when
dying time may last an eternity.

I guess no one lived long enough
to share that feeling.
It's the pain that makes you aware

that we the living simply do not
comprehend. In any case I'll stroke
the specter of the skeleton of her old

self and won't pay any attention to her
coughing with her jaw frozen open.
It'll be a horrible image subtled with

metaphors of past lives.
A remembrance of the mummies
in Old Guanajuato grimacing at me.