domingo, 19 de mayo de 2013

You won't remember when I'm gone

The way I sorted the books
On the library
The trivial objects
At the bottom
Of my backpack's pocket
You won't remember
When I'm gone

The smell of deodorant
On my t-shirts
The noise of my breathing
When I'm sleeping
You won't remember
When I'm gone

The heap of papers
On my desk
My collection of useless
Out-of-ink pens
You won't remember
When I'm gone

The shoes jammed
Under the bed
You always complained about
You won't remember
When I'm gone

But that kiss...

domingo, 12 de mayo de 2013

My Grandfather

My grandfather's cheeks were like
The stony jetties off Mar del Plata's coast
My grandfather's voice had
The sound of Dulce de Leche on hot Sunday's pastry
His hair had always been white
As the clouds that flew over Playa Grande in Winters past and gone
His eyes were like
Morning Café con Leche on the blue Formica table
By historical standards
He'd been no hero, but god! How I looked up to him

When I stand on that jetty I think
How touched we are by the people who loved us.