* 19
19.Traducida: Sara Uribe
From: Tamaulipas, Mexico. Before
After
:
garden my mother had a garden of butterflies and all watering its roots on the sap of his weeping with his tears wet bark weaving a web of words that only butterflies knew decipher them in return only gave him the silent wings of air vertigo shedding their fragile breath bodies now my mother is dead and fled the garden butterflies
"=?
SOMETIMES I THINK ABOUT MY FATHER, I imagine him wandering around in one place, crossing the street, boarding a bus. I wonder if you remember us, if you ever wished that we had not been born, if he cursed my mother for giving him a son who died a few days, if you know what I say recognize its absence. Sometimes there are evenings when seniors come to me to ask me a coin, then I think maybe my father begging in a cafe by a woman who smokes while I write. So I think that if that man was my father know hunger stuck in the ribs, he would know the sound of acid falling on the hollow of an empty stomach. If this man was my father, if his hand is stretched and empty next to me, if that man was my father, but no.
[Sara Uribe]
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