Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Ernesto Trejo

Tonight this house speaks to me
through the creaking in the cupboards
and the refrigerator's humming.
Believe me, when this house shakes
under my feet
it isn't because of the train.
There's something in the basement.
I don't know what, I've never been there,
I'm afraid of the empty room
that leads to it.
Tonight I'm a hearing machine.
Beer bottles are crashing
in the dusty corners.
Even the spiders
are hesitant.
The crack in the ceiling
is a fissure in the brain
for all I know,
this kidney ache might be a sign
of rusty pipes, the cricket's
clicking has been the song
of my ventricles
all these years.
Thank God the water goes on at 2.
Then I sleep
while the plum tree drinks on,
a water full of sounds.

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