Reminiscencia By Melissa Sauma

Exploro antiguas aguas
busco el primer fuego.

La infancia,
esa casa poblada de fantamas;
el patio de mi abuela,
la tierra, los árboles de los que estoy hecha.

La guayaba que se estrella contra un mosaico rojo a media tarde,
las tardes en que observé pasar la vida desde una vereda.

Y me engaño creyendo que mis manos se hicieron para narrar el mundo.

Escribo, es cierto,
hay tanto que quiero nombrar y que no puedo;
tanta vida escurriéndose en mis manos,
tanta sombra ondeando mis cabellos,
tantas palabras suspendidas en el aire
—minúsculas partículas de polvo
iluminadas por la luz de una ventana—
que debo sacudirme de ellas
como quien se sacude de la piel la última capa.

Y miento
si digo que es la piedra, la montaña, el mar, el río,
los pájaros alzando vuelo, las esquinas de una casa,
el rostro de mi abuela, sus múltiples fantasmas
los que hoy
me piden ser contados.

Hay tanto que quiero nombrar y que no puedo.

Escribo, es cierto.
Del otro lado está la muerte
levitando.

Mothers by Nikki Giovani

the last time i was home

to see my mother we kissed

exchanged pleasantries

and unpleasantries pulled a warm   

comforting silence around

us and read separate books

i remember the first time

i consciously saw her

we were living in a three room   

apartment on burns avenue

mommy always sat in the dark

i don’t know how i knew that but she did

that night i stumbled into the kitchen

maybe because i’ve always been

a night person or perhaps because i had wet

the bed

she was sitting on a chair

the room was bathed in moonlight diffused through   

those thousands of panes landlords who rented

to people with children were prone to put in windows   

she may have been smoking but maybe not

her hair was three-quarters her height

which made me a strong believer in the samson myth   

and very black

i’m sure i just hung there by the door

i remember thinking: what a beautiful lady

she was very deliberately waiting

perhaps for my father to come home   

from his night job or maybe for a dream

that had promised to come by   

“come here” she said “i’ll teach you   

a poem:

         i see the moon

         the moon sees me

         god bless the moon

         and god bless me”   

i taught it to my son

who recited it for her

just to say we must learn   

to bear the pleasures

as we have borne the pains