THE METROPOL CAKE SHOP Comments

Without language I come from my solitude
Luis García Montero
I look at the reflection of my body
in the shop window.
In the glass
I see myself fat, tired, floating over those vanilla cakes.

I think about the friends I haven't seen again;
and what did they know about this faded heart
into which not a centimetre of the world fits?

And when you don't recognise yourself in the steps of your son, nor in the mirror,
tired of eluding bad omens,
seeing from afar the splendour of losses,
the unfathomable and the unknown.

I shut up: my silence reaches this body I don't understand,
I clear my heart of its last fire.

And I'm still a stranger in the glass,
fat and tired
and at my back
some shadows, gestures of dead grandfathers and uncles
floating over the vanilla cakes.
...
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