Maulla.
Con cierta regularidad a las tres de la tarde (hora inventada) para recordarme que la comida es importante… La suya.
Y el mundo ya no soy solo yo.
Me tira la zarpa.
Con guante de seda rayada para decirme que el amor incluye que amase la almohada.
Además de las babas.
Ronronea.
De una forma extraña.
Ahogándome en una masa de amor…
El pelo de gato es irrespirable.
Se droga.
Como loca sobre la «yerbita».
Al rato regresa,
De nuevo en el piso,
Se revuelca y juega.
First brush it,
all bristle bump free.
Twerk and twist,
And to every swirl,
My words imprisoned.
Silently a poem.
Quietly the thread.
Yarn is wool.
And wool poetry.
Some arts ran about the field,
Grazing the flowers.
Some others wait in air.
Whisper.
Lazo de mecate,
Allá en el horizonte.
La tierra con una sed que se deslava monte abajo.
El encino que cede,
La hierba desaparece.
Que la maja le tiró los tejos
Y el muy cabra quería que le diera el alma.
Y eso no, le dijo ella.
Eso es mío y de nadie más.
Y si quieres seguirme, me seguirás.
Y si no, otros llegan por donde tú te vas.
Turi turi turi la alharaca
De cabecita roja,
Su escarapela.
De obrero mi pana,
Entra y sale del ciprés.
Y a la mañana,
Tremenda fiesta me arma.
Biru biru biru biru.
Luces rojo azul.
Tapón de castor.
¿Chocado?
¿Robado?
¿Muerto?
¿Por qué de pronto el río de luces no fluye?
Y la red, que debería ser automática,
Informa del evento de ante ante ayer.
Two kilometres.
At 60 kph.
And all I recall,
Is the lorry that went by on my side,
to scurry lizard in front.
The jumping hitting the bumpers,
cause the crazy speed of the sane ones.
My jelly legs after a turn that wrong without breaking down.
No worries, I survived.
Barking.
Lightning.
The paws, the ears.
Cotton tail.
It crosses the wire fence.
Gets lost in the field.
And the dogs’ chase ends.
Llave angular de barril de 1/2″.
Latiguillo o manguera de abasto.
Yo con una llave Stilson y un lago en el baño.
Published in this blog December 19th, 2020
Translated September 2023
Continuation and part 2 of 3. Tear it apart.
The light coloured tile floor and the «welcome» rug over a weird shine of the spotless tiles. He goes out to the noon sun, crosses the cobbled path between the house and the fence in exactly 7 steps.
The jeans become a straight Mediterranean nose, curly black hair brushed backwards in a gel excess and tunnel eyes. Dark, mysterious and lighted at the bottom by life vitality that swallows breath down (for pragmatic effects, the video camera goes up panning from the legs to the face, please).
—Hi. Ready for hard work? — shining stars among tulips in a VIP smile, inviting, magical.
—Kome… in… Please. Would you like a glass of water? — composed poker face, ancient. He comes forward to open the house door, knightly, as she crosses through the fence door/bashes her black lashes over a green light of eyes.
—Of course! Thank you.
She’s wonderful. A prized cactus before dawn. But first he has to lure her so she comes back.
The white fingers contrast against the red plastic and the ice; a hand takes the dissected fingers along the rest of the arm on a cutting board. The hand works with its twin to cut following the bone and retire this from the meat. Besides other parts that aren’t worth the effort; the cut out hands will end up in the grinder. The fleshy meat will be cut and refrigerated to use when needed. He might need 4 to 5 more people.
She, black hair in a pony tail, washes her hands and smiles pleased; before taking the glass of water being given.
—To your orchids! — It’s him now whom smiles, dunking his nose in the glass… Eureka!
—Guld… You like to.. co… Come? To the inaugural day? Guld you open the tab? — The tinted in doubt tone of someone who knows his poor hand.
—Shall we have the first today…? — puckered face— I have to keep working —guilt/reproach tone — tomorrow?
A negation gesture, he goes around the bath (in the first story) with his eyes fixed to the tiles, to where she has sat on the edge. He caresses the bath’s edge as if he couldn’t see her and takes her face, closes his and whispers to her ear:
—I must prepare the loam: weed off the grass and leave it drying. Mis bebés (In English in the original)… These orchids come from the dezert and are more difficult than any ofher…
He, in sun shades and long sleeved plus the exotic addition of a fishing hat, weeds off the grass a garden area connected to the bath’s plumbing. If you top preparing the loam with carrying it in buckets, it is a bother. He reminds the first time he saw them. White as spells under moonlight, in a corner of his wife’s favourite garden. He does remember too his wife with her lover… Actually he only remembers the moans. —Haaa haa— He pulls the grass with more strength than before. And smiles in the middle of his frenzied activity.
—In her flesh I found beauty
He takes out about 20 centimeters of soil in an area of about 5 X 5 meters. The sun is a debt on a bank account minus the job but he, keeps till he finishes the task. He fills with sand…this is one of the few times we can see his eyes shine in a bridled excitement some would call passion and others madness.
«They always have orchids, I really hate that» Very unkind thoughts coming from a powdered «perroquet» nose (a little bit hooky but small and graceful)[1]— Oh, thank you! — Sweetened tone whilst the hands belonging to this nose take a white porcelain cup of tea up to the lips. The round table has two bamboo little carpets on it and on them a tea set on a tray. A glass pitch with white orchids of a single red petal[2] separate her from another nose. A tanned and freckled nose straight from the bottom and that looks very determined. This nose owns a pair of thin straight lips glossed up with glitter.
[1] For a more effective description towards a nice imaginative exercise, you can imagine this was video recorded at nose height and panning down
[2] Orchids posses three sepals and three petals. One of said petals looks different and is called labellum.
—I can’t believe these are from your green house!
—These aren’t mine — Mysterious smile.
— Oh, can I ask where did you get them?
TO BE CONTINUED