The Independent Republic Of Your Small Handwriting

The battlefield testifies to that.

You know.

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.