The Independent Republic Of Your Small Handwriting
The battlefield testifies to that.
You fled this morning leaving
your pajamas on the floor,
the bed to be made.
Someone’s sad underpants
you do not remember
give a warm welcome to
your tired eyes
that will not have lunch until four.
Did you expect, perhaps,
a postcard kiss over the doormat,
a sweet old lady
with a checkered apron,
to find your slippers at the door?
Don’t let hunger blind you:
that is the independence you defend in front of
the civil registry,
yours is the lion’s den where you proclaim
Mr. Propper didn’t step in here.
Translated by Curtis Bauer
“The Independent Republic Of Your Small Handwriting” is from Tinta en el almanaque (Ink On The Almanac) (Editorial Moreno Mejías, 2008).
You can read and listen to the poem in the original Spanish here.