Seven Poems
Juana Peñate Montejo
Guardian
Empty, my existence,
my request, hesitant, without sense.
Bare words leave
no taste in my mouth.
Guardian of silence and darkness,
where is my voice?
Guardian of sound and song,
where is my spirit?
Guardian of guardians,
where has poetry gone?
Bring the scent of amber,
return me to myself.
Escape
Escape, when silence tears at your heart,
the air freezes your blood.
You are the butterfly passing,
one life to another.
Dawn’s brilliance will not last
but dissolves into the future.
This Path
Neither straight nor curved,
sometimes obscured.
Raw and searing.
You might be hungry or thirsty.
The path is difficult, you hide
from the coyote, hungry
for loneliness rooted in your mind.
Worries for survival circle,
time does not pause, will not stop.
Eyes open, no possibility of sleep, dreaming
is not the path to another home.
Disappearance
You vanish
into the forest, swim
through dusk and dirt.
You dream of money
falling into your hands, words falter.
Fire
What remains of fire
gleams in morning’s frost.
I don’t know how
to coax flames,
lunging then cackling.
Fire burns and my hands
stir the coals.
Vultures
They wait at the road’s turn,
in the unbearable heat of day.
They wait for you, your eyes
dim from hunger. Vultures search
for your footprints, anxiety grows,
steps lost in dry leaves, unmoored
and the vultures wait
for the crumbs of your life.
Muted
In a country not yours, without light.
You live in foreign speech, exist
muted and silent.
Empty, my existence,
my request, hesitant, without sense.
Bare words leave
no taste in my mouth.
Guardian of silence and darkness,
where is my voice?
Guardian of sound and song,
where is my spirit?
Guardian of guardians,
where has poetry gone?
Bring the scent of amber,
return me to myself.
Escape
Escape, when silence tears at your heart,
the air freezes your blood.
You are the butterfly passing,
one life to another.
Dawn’s brilliance will not last
but dissolves into the future.
This Path
Neither straight nor curved,
sometimes obscured.
Raw and searing.
You might be hungry or thirsty.
The path is difficult, you hide
from the coyote, hungry
for loneliness rooted in your mind.
Worries for survival circle,
time does not pause, will not stop.
Eyes open, no possibility of sleep, dreaming
is not the path to another home.
Disappearance
You vanish
into the forest, swim
through dusk and dirt.
You dream of money
falling into your hands, words falter.
Fire
What remains of fire
gleams in morning’s frost.
I don’t know how
to coax flames,
lunging then cackling.
Fire burns and my hands
stir the coals.
Vultures
They wait at the road’s turn,
in the unbearable heat of day.
They wait for you, your eyes
dim from hunger. Vultures search
for your footprints, anxiety grows,
steps lost in dry leaves, unmoored
and the vultures wait
for the crumbs of your life.
Muted
In a country not yours, without light.
You live in foreign speech, exist
muted and silent.
translated from the Ch'ol by Carol Rose Little and Charlotte Friedman