Lines after hearing of
the sudden death
of Sandra Frausto,
a student at Merrill
working in Mexico
“hija del Volcan”
Neruda
“estando ya mi casa
sosegada” Juan de la Cruz
“en la perdida misma
los alivios encuentro” Sor Juana de la Cruz
Nothing quieter
than the chaos and clamor
of a ship at the edge of the
horizon,
almost invisible, almost lost.
Our daughter, hear us,
our daughter of the volcano.
Alleviation:
en la perdida misma
los alivios encuentro.
Our daughter, hear us,
our daughter of grace and freedom.
My convict,
Impeccable wind,
La misma muerte que vivo
es la vida con que muera (Sor
Juana)
Our daughter, hear us,
our daughter of the volcano.
Nothing farther by far
than casa sosegada
almost invisible, almost lost.
Our daughter hear us,
our daughter of instrumentality.
2.
(my translation from Divine Love by Sor Juana)
at the hand of my dying in wanting
at the hand of my murdering in loving
at the hand of my nourishing in poisoning
Would you believe it?
The dying I live
is
the living I die
Would you believe it?
3.
Where will we find it?
Point if you can.
Gesture.
In the terror of your island heart?
In the peace of your starry hand?
Those moments are carefully carved
like your individual teeth.
Her orchestras of hope are silent
but waiting for that slim baton.
Where will we find her?
Our daughter
of the volcano?
In the thrashing of her eyelashes?
In the heat of that last glance?
Those separate breaths are multitudes,
an army of sighing.
Who escapes? Nuestra
hija del volcan?
In the tender kiss of politics?
In the silence of that distant ship?
Nothing sadder than a single glove,
sleeping in the chair.
My orchestras of hope are silent
but waiting for that slim baton.
Did you know the world
is dangerous?
Our stone?
In the fire that burns my fugitive tongue.
In this wasted secret:
“cada uno es el otro” (Neruda)
one pulled thread
is our unraveling.
Who has sucked the air from this room?
Who has frozen the summerlight?
