IDENTIDADES 1 ENGLISH IDENTIDADES 9 ENGLISH | Page 94

takes the still warm poetess out of the morgue,
being more beautiful than ever.
They knock at Niko´s doors,
engraver poet painter and a real man,
a he-man.
They cross their hands in greeting,
drink firewater
toasting for the dead.
They tell her.
Clean yourself with the dead woman of letters,
for your enemies to become salt and water
and
then throw her to the four corners.
The Devil is wiser because… and
takes the news as crap.
He washed her with honey,
with ashes from the ceiba tree
with Bulgarian pear marmalade.
Bit-by-bit
as in an opera by R. Warner,
he was inserting on her (what Eve sought in Adam on the pages of Genesis,
that was the romantic poetry conceals under flowers
and writings by squirrels)
life that gives life,
until the cocks crowed.
Like a melodrama
the muse woke up:
"Where am I?"
She is alive and kicking.
inside a mirror,
at the house of a big negro
Elf and possibly as queer homosexual.
She closed her eyes as if she were Marguerite Yourcenar,
She was now
in his living room of her home,
as a last-minute sonnet,
hesitating on what dress to choose.
She selected a large lilac grown,
She looked askance
the mischievous mirror:
A couple was making love,
another last-minute sonnet,
in the paradise of the year 2000.
She saw herself on all fours,
receiving the grammar
from a negro with a gold tooth.
It was Sunday.

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