NYU Black Renaissance Noire Fall 2015 Volume 15.2 - Page 68

By EYRA HARBAR TRANSLATED BY EYRA HARBAR AND ARIADNA GARCÍA Breath The heart creaks I understand the air when I boost it, from my mouth I take it to your ear-snail and there it stalls like the sea, to be heard. with its hole opened. You know its home overwhelmingly red, the lonely pause of its inhabitants. RODRÍGUEZ Bread Your breaded skin, gently bitten, it stays in my teeth. Biting your skin is a wheat harvest. Eagerly, my mouth looks for you: the body I crumble, appetite of my veins. Palate, square of fire, await for the kiss; the sacred craft of the baker is in my mouth. Carelessness creaks while entering the door, its scene turned into ashes, as daughter of the dust, as common as the death that awaits it. Nothing is enough during the days of loss. I wave the white flag to accustom myself to the defeats. I light up myrrh where we had to say goodbye. After the battle, to the angel that guards the city I ask for another day; may the night allow us to dream. March’s Trees open fire Trees have a good memory when in March they flourish in open fire. At close range they aim their yellow cannons, stream of flowers, which throw in advanced at the floor the beautiful funeral of the asphalt. 66 They don’t wonder how to write their names on the first date. They just untie a shot in space deliberately merciless over the time’s cemetery and its elemental treaty of farewells. Everything is spirit under these branches that rule the earth, the elusive god that gazes in awe at this offend and then falls as a metaphor of life and death. Longshoreman Anchoring the drunk movement of its iron, the ship hopes to ripe a banana digestion in its icy warehouse while the stevedore is still singing.