Poems by MARA PASTOR
Translations by MARÍA JOSÉ GIMÉNEZ
Homage to the Navel
Navels end sometimes.
Before that happens,
the body draws a road
from the door
through which you will arrive
to the place of areolae
where you will calm your hunger.
Origin of anthill
of white light that from me
will return to you to teach us
that a navel ends
when another is
about to begin.
By MARA PASTOR
Translated by MARÍA JOSÉ GIMÉNEZ
This island is full of women
who come back the way
skeletons return with the surge
or turtles to their native shore.
By MARA PASTOR
Translated by MARÍA JOSÉ GIMÉNEZ
Dozens of cars
wait in line
for a little fuel.
At the gas station
they’re waiting for a ladder
that leads to a generator.
By MARA PASTOR
Translated by MARÍA JOSÉ GIMÉNEZ
She asked me for an ice cream machine.
When she said it her collarbones were pronounced.
They were beginning to wilt,
but her skin was the flesh of coconut itself.
Translated by MARÍA JOSÉ GIMÉNEZ
June 10, 2018
New York City
This year, the Puerto Rican flag wore black. Only the white star remained. Seeing it dressed in mourning, it was impossible not to feel a knot from your chest to your gut.
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