To Esme, the Real
Never had I seen such a beautiful statue so forgotten:
“Reading contemporary novels, woman of oxidized copper.”
All the places the University lacked were beside you.
And I, so tired of so much emptiness,
wanted to overflow your eyes:
those two clearings embroidered with moon and night that,
unraveled, would they cover my fear?
Fate already knew it by heart for me:
you will meet a tarot reader,
a gypsy a gypsy
(Esmeralda)
and she will read your lips.
You read cancer:
that I was dying
from your fingers walking in my hand.
And maybe because I spat between my laughs,
or maybe because I laughed my destiny away,
you pretended to read contemporary novels
on top of a paint-chipped bench
beside my stony portrait.
Photography by Abigail Flores // Dev/Scan at Foto Star
I was born in summer, and that is why my mouth sometimes feels like a downpour . I study Journalism at UNAM, and in September 2024 I started the blog Palomas de Cassiopeia, a space for literary essay, autofiction, and poetry.