Two Poems

Isabel Pérez Montalbán

Farewell
 
I, turbulence and lightning among the orange trees,
blossoming blood red amid the whiteness,
warship surrounded by uncertainty.
I, terminal childhood, novice of goodbyes,
skin newly molted, sinuous hips
almost a woman, hair almost fuzz,
as though unwound from a silk cocoon.
I, summer sandals because of the heat.
A solitary gazelle in the classrooms
on the savannah of that high school.
I, endangered so far from the tribe,
herdless animal, prey for the carnivores.
 
I, buying a ticket and boarding the train,
suitcase with a defective lock,
leaf about to fall, stowaway on a dinghy.
A bolero city lacerating my eyes,
biting my forehead, a guerrilla fighter
firing her tears at the ordeal.
I, bidding myself goodbye, captive and unarmed.
 
 

Animal Ma Non Troppo
 
All right. I withdraw to the confines
of my primal forest, to a swampy fate
where dying is not strange but nature’s
logic, Darwinism without the science.
 
Here I am. So naked and exposed;
without any more fur or homeland than hail,
without more temple or god than camouflage
to confront the elements as a pariah.
 
I declare myself to be guilty, pre-social,
hibernating protozoan, penitent larva
in my suburban Gethsemane
with my phonetic inhuman speech.
 
But in the end, a perennial, a moving target,
magma water, assault fossil,
petrified weapon, financial plague,
the wildest pollen, a bloom of orogenesis.

translated from the Spanish by Elena Barcia