My Rage

 

Dad’s green fingers

Mum’s red rage

What does that make?  

 

My rage lies in wait behind my smile/ mi sonrisa

then pounces upon some unsuspecting victim,

never the appropriate target.

 

Mi rio está lleno de ahogados/ full a corpses my river be

Only when you start withering you notice your roots are drying, dying,

then you might choose to conjure up las hechiceras,

tu matrilínea, and remember

 

Elige tu historia

Re-invent yourself

But tend to the flame

In your heart

Listen to the drum in your heart

 

 

 

comes the lullaby humming softly like the River

at the beginning of spring,

tales in tow,

of All who attempted the crossing.

 

I lay my rage,

that sharp stabbing little rage

that hides under my plumage

like a cockerel spur, mi navaja,

across the parched river bed

so that water, when it comes,

will blunt its edge,

So that my tears

When they flow

Will blunt its edge,

and sing, and wait.

 

 

 

                                         But does my desire

Still subsists

Under the hard shell

Of my rage

 

Elige tu historia

Re invent yourself

But light up the flame

Of your heart

The flickering flame

Of your heart.

 

 

 

 

 

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