Transición/ Julia de Burgos

Sin entradas particulares. Sin más.

D.

Poema para las lágrimas

Como cuando se abrieron por tus sueños mis párpados,
rota y cansadamente, acoge mi partida.

Como si me tuvieras nadando entre tus brazos,
donde las aguas corren dementes y perdidas.

Igual que cuando amaste mis ensueños inútiles,
apasionadamente, despídeme en la orilla...

Me voy como vinieron a tus vuelos mis pájaros,
callada y mansamente, a reposar heridas.

Ya nada más detiene mis ojos en la nube...
Se alzaron por alzarte, y ¡qué inmensa caída!

Sobre mi pecho saltan cadáveres de estrellas
que por ríos y por montes te robé, enternecida.

Todo fue mi universo unas olas volando,
y mi alma una vela conduciendo tu vida...

Todo fue mar de espumas por mi ingenuo horizonte...
Por tu vida fue todo, una duda escondida.

¡Y saber que mis sueños jamás solos salieron
por los prados azules a pintar margaritas!

¡Y sentir que no tuve otra voz que su espíritu!
¡Y pensar que yo nunca sonreí sin su risa!

¡Nada más! En mis dedos se suicidan las aves,
y a mis pasos cansados ya no nacen espigas.

Me voy como vinieron a tu techo mis cielos...
fatal y quedamente, a quedarme dormida...

Como el descanso tibio del más simple crepúsculo,
naturalmente trágico, magistralmente herida.

Adiós. Rézame versos en las noches muy largas..
En mi pecho sin lumbre ya no cabe la vida...

Rompeolas

Voy a hacer un rompeolas
con mi alegría pequeña...
No quiero que sepa el mar,
que por mi pecho van penas.

No quiero que toque el mar
la orilla acá de mi tierra...
Se me acabaron los sueños,
locos de sombra en la arena.

No quiero que mire el mar
luto de azul en mi senda...
(¡Eran auroras mis párpados,
cuando cruzó la tormenta!)

No quiero que llore el mar
nuevo aguacero en mi puerta...
Todos los ojos del viento
ya me lloraron por muerta.

Voy a hacer un rompeolas
con mi alegría pequeña,
leve alegría de saberme
mía la mano que cierra.

No quiero que llegue el mar
hasta la sed de mi poema,
ciega en mitad de una lumbre,
rota en mitad de una ausencia.

Una vida ordinaria

De madrugada se me antoja una vida ordinaria. Una en la cual no sea muy hispana en los nortes o muy cosmopolita para la islita. Una con emisoras locales y anuncios conocidos. Sin análisis, sin pretensiones. En un solo idioma. En un solo lugar. Una sin amistades cuya única prueba de supervivencia sea alguna tela traslúcida y cibernética. Una vida más concreta. Porque el tiempo apenas se cuenta en intervalos de un año. Y de momento se está más viejo. Pero se llega habiendo dejado pedazos en distintas partes, lo cual tiene todo de poético y nada más. Una vida daltónica donde no se vea el verdor del patio al otro lado.

Ayer,

me di cuenta que muero.
Pero, decidí olvidarlo.

The absurd

Because I can only question.

Cabo Rojo

I press the slice of lemon into the bottle, plug my thumb in and turn the bottle the upside down. The lemon goes up, dragging little bubbles on the way. I check my e-mail barefoot at the terrace of the bar with the sound of the waves crashing next to me. I should be happy.

Chr_nology

7:38 The neighbor has a birdhouse. As I was getting dressed this morning I was trying to remember whether the known whistle from one of the birds is originally its own or mine. I can’t tell anymore. I checked my e-mail, drank my watered-down coffee and took a picture of Camille sleeping before I left.
8:50 It’s absurd how much I enjoy to drive alone. I hate to arrive; it ruins all the fun. Today I concluded that this makes no sense as I am supposed to enjoy carpooling and public transportation rather. But I don’t. I realized I am, deep down, an egotistical, individualist, atomized being. So I made a lame apology to myself for being so ordinary, forgave myself immediately, of course, and kept singing.
9:40 Then I had to park and the day officially started.
10:00 I always torture myself picking five to six frames that look exactly the same at the optometrist; it gives me something to do later on. This time I went for the Goddard style with the little tip on the sides. Once in the waiting room the other optometrist made me think of Kiwi; he would have given her a 10. My checkup, however, was, far from pleasing, more like a scene from Lost In Translation. They all looked the same, like the burgundy carpet. I wondered if the optometrist could tell when one doesn’t really care and is simply naming letters randomly, like my Z that was really an X; I called both. Tonight I will surely have my yearly nightmare in which I chose the wrong glasses and can’t see at all. Why can’t they just guess the prescription?
12:04 I left, happy to have been in the mall and NOT bought a thing… Ok, I bought a pretzel, but that was it. As I left, the security guy came by to supervise the two ladies fighting over my parking spot.
12:30 I got lost in Miramar, which made for a good conversation with myself about my sense of direction and with the other cars for not showing me how to get out. I passed Paco’s (the photographer) house, my parents’ favorite restaurant, the new conservatory…
Eventually, I found my way to Carolina. “The District Sleeps Alone Tonight” was playing; I thought it appropriate for the occasion.
…
6:20 If I’d have to choose, I would still say that the visit to the optometrist was the worst part - worse than 5:20. I took the long way back home.
9:24 I removed an O.

Got Jesus?

As I was handing my ticket to the flight attendant the girl in front of me turned and said “¡Hola, Denise!” … Yes, of course, from high school! “Patricia! ¡Hola!” It turns out we were seating next to each other’s row and Raquel, another friend from college was seating behind us. So we all decided to occupy a row, so the people around didn’t have to listen to our loud complaints about grad studies, long trips, final papers and common friends who either are married, or have kids already. Raquel studies Literature in Philadelphia, Patricia Biology in Pamplona. We had a lively conversation for a while. However, none of us had slept for the past two days so we took a nap for the rest of ride, leaving the others around us at peace.
We woke up when we could see the lights on the shore. Raquel said she dreamt something about me becoming a soccer mom and laughing like mine. Patricia had gotten over her dizziness and wondered how her boyfriend would spend the night sleeping on a bench back the airport in Philadelphia before coming home tomorrow. I just wished I could be dropped home and not have to go by car all the way back.
As we were approaching, I thought of how anticlimactic it is to arrive so soon. Raquel asked me if I would applaud; a very difficult question, indeed. Upon landing, just as the cabin lights were turned on again all three ladies sitting in front of us took out a comb and fixed their hair. They then finished with hairspray. Yes, in an airplane.
We grabbed our bags and said goodbye. I looked around for my family. I expected my sister to have stuck her nose to the glass window, but, alas, they weren’t there. I called my mother. They were still home! I was abandoned at the airport at midnight! So I did what all abandoned children do: I went to Wendy’s.
An hour later, as I was putting my bags in the trunk, I realized that our car now has a sticker that says “Got Jesus?” I thought it was tacky, but I got five hugs after that, so there are no hard feelings.
And then we arrived home. I’m pretty sure the dog was about to have a heart attack. There was dessert in the fridge, which I had with the lactose free milk that they now drink. There is, for the first time, a real tree (technically dead now), creatively (?) decorated by Camille, which beats anytime the lifeless, dusty, smelly, crappy tree from Kmart. I got a plastic cup in the bathroom on which my sister wrote my name even though I never use those and a very ugly t-shirt from the pediatric center of diabetes, that I can’t but wear proudly. My mother already made me part of a million appointments for which she feels she needn’t ask my permission. The chair in the office still squeaks. My closet still makes me sneeze. My old books are still piled up everywhere. I can hear the crickets and coquíes outside. I guess I got home.