Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Carilda Oliver Labra

You have no parents it's clear... I know
because of your indecisive look. I can tell
because of your shirt.
You are small but grown up behind the basket
You respect the sparrows. A penny is
enough for you.
The people pass dressed inside with steel.
They don't listen to you...You have shouted
two or three times: "Greens!"
They pass indifferently carrying packages
and umbrellas;
In new pants and new blouses;
They walk in a hurry toward the bank
and the tedium.
or toward the sunset through Main Street...
And you're not selling: you do the game
of selling; and although you never played,
it comes to you without trying...
But don't get close to me; no, child,
don't talk with me.
I don't want to see the sight of your
probable wings.
I found you this morning around the
courthouse, and what a blow your
unhappy innocence has given me!
My heart which was an urn of illusion
is now like wilted greens, like no heart...

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