Translation from Spanish by Beatriz Vázquez
This
city is like a flea market
where
everything works and everything is like new.
It
has little brick houses and cups of coffee,
cherries
and avocados and watermelons
and
popsicles and cigarettes
and
there are puddles in the street
and
it has flowers
on
all sidewalks and in houses.
This
city is like a yard sale
full
of church domes and crucifixes,
of
bags and shoes and slippers,
of
books in English and coats and scarves.
It's
like opening the door of a brothel
to
see asses and lips and crotches
open
to light and saxophones
and
fireworks in the air.
This
city dies and rises again;
It’s
there if I open the door,
and offers itself to me
if
I think of a necessary object.
This
city is useful
to
swallow the tears
same
way the air is swallowed
and
it's like a prison blade:
treacherous
and just one hit.
Chicago, Ilinois
July 4, 2016
