Poem: Translations Of An Unknown Mexican Poet (2)
Translations Of An Unknown Mexican Poet
2.
I’m married to the Mother of unbecoming sorrows.
I approach her like one would approach a shrine
smashed by boys throwing stones for ball practice.
What has a husband to do with sacred fragments?
I’m married to the Mother of unbecoming sorrows.
The children eat from cartons while the bone china
rattles from the cool dark of the heirloom dresser.
Tomorrow I will trash the plates. Or I won’t.
She was a girl, once, green as a stalk of grass
I held between my teeth. She was the dew, once,
translucent sun on the tip of the stalk of grass
I bit into. She was the sap, once, in the grass,
now she’s the Mother of unbecoming sorrows
I’m married to, I’m married to, I’m married to.
2.
I’m married to the Mother of unbecoming sorrows.
I approach her like one would approach a shrine
smashed by boys throwing stones for ball practice.
What has a husband to do with sacred fragments?
I’m married to the Mother of unbecoming sorrows.
The children eat from cartons while the bone china
rattles from the cool dark of the heirloom dresser.
Tomorrow I will trash the plates. Or I won’t.
She was a girl, once, green as a stalk of grass
I held between my teeth. She was the dew, once,
translucent sun on the tip of the stalk of grass
I bit into. She was the sap, once, in the grass,
now she’s the Mother of unbecoming sorrows
I’m married to, I’m married to, I’m married to.
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