Jorge Gimeno

The Six Points


Quiet… Come… Quiet…
Smell my six points.
I am not the daughter of rotten
water crossed at night.
Don’t shriek like a beheaded lamb.
Now the coccyx. The foot. Stop
at the crown. What about my purple temples?
You haven’t noticed my navel.
My six sites are purified.
Don’t shriek like a decapitated lamb.
Run your leg over my hips.
I liked your knee the most.
It smelled like a river and that I will live near water.
You are an imbecile, fear pinches you.
The sky is butter.
But it’s not going to melt. Relax.
You need to take a boat ride. You need
to see me by moonlight,
my clothes and your clothes to gather on the floor.
If you only knew how to leave.
To make a loincloth with my hair.
If you knew how to come back.
To make a pillow with my hair.
Not so fast, maybe you’re wrong.
You take a hit and I bleed.
If they cover your mouth, I bleed.
Wait for the sun to come up to see it.
If night keeps you from seeing my blood
you can smell it. Smell my blood
all over my body.
That’s how much I can say about my love.
I am not a monkey that embraces you.
The night is a blue monkey that embraces you.
But my feet do not feel the ground.



Translated by Curtis Bauer
“This Six Points” is from La tierra nos agobia [The Ground Oppresses Us] (Pre-Textos, 2011).


You can read and listen to the poem in the original Spanish here.