Claudia Rojas



Little Jeanne of Montréal, this gesture has become useless

the houses have been bared and a forest grows within them

amid lace curtains a fox approaches

brushing up dust towards the light

and even though these images accumulate one over the other

they remain unable to portray the setting of our nostalgia

right now you could be returning from a party

decoding signs to awaken the best of possible worlds

only then will we arrive at the understanding that this is no train nor are you a porcelain figurine

strangely, photo printing shops are disappearing

our memories become increasingly less tangible

and while we think of this, a group of machines create a city

lifting earth they redirect the course of a river

energy sources are installed in a visible location

a road is paved and workmen pour in rain gushing their overalls

at home a man motions his hands imitating subterraneous currents

curtains quiver in the wind and with time he has learned to be by himself

which is what we should all come to learn

stealing money from money we owed

sitting on the grass to see the last of swarms

because Jeanne, it is time for me to leave you here

and stop beating round the bush on this matter

up on the train are your bags

you try to fit into your pockets a great deal of useless things

I cannot say goodbye if not like someone that has already ruined other useless things

we have already destroyed woods and cities growing within others before

we never promised Buenos Aires to ourselves

and yet she awaited a few times after work

all deals are done with, Jeanne

Montréal will understand your absence

there’s something beautiful and terrible about dismantling a dandelion

tomorrow there will be something to replace what has already existed and we will not notice

now close your eyes and thing that you’re at home again

no object or point willingly submits to its decisive destruction

that the tordos lean on the wall jumping over the canes

the world imitates itself when a tap is opened and water runs

an excuse to say a fistful of things over a line.



Translated by Claudia Rojas

“X” first appeared in the collection Tordo (Editorial Cuneta, 2014).


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