Elena Medel

Tritanopia

Your hatred of colors finished her off: your hatred of the pagan and razor blades. Flamsteed takes her away from her stomach ache: It is my structure, I will die beside her. You have what you wanted. It was Alicia: not the diamond. No destruction: yes you turned your back, you bit so deep. […]

8 years ago | 0 Comments

Tara

I The night of your death God spattered my window with wet. The rain hurt as much as cold hurts in a Christmas story inside cardboard neighborhoods. The wind hit the walls, slipped through the cracks in the house, chilled the closets, made its shrieks a guarded lullaby. […]

8 years ago | 0 Comments

Fish

Our favorite dish required a certain preparation. My grandmother opened the fish vertically, reading my future. She would carefully arrange its insides across the surface wound: Marks of death should not become infected. Meanwhile, she talked to me. I was still little; I had come back from school, asked about lunch, gave my thanks […]

8 years ago | 0 Comments

Family Tree

I belong to a race of women with biodegradable hearts. When one of us dies her dead body is displayed in public parks, the children come to pry in her tin throat, to celebrate her with flies and worms, I’m so sad. She made me smile, so I didn’t like her. Exactly thirty days […]

8 years ago | 0 Comments

Birthday

The men in my mother’s family die before they turn forty. They get confused when they iron out their lives. Count down: they hold close their intimate memories. It’s not possible to miss strangers. Young, tall, a swoop of wind and they’re cadavers. How would you stop it? You could mourn the […]

8 years ago | 0 Comments

Elena Medel (Córdoba, 1985), poet and literary critic, is one of the prominent emerging voices in Spanish poetry. From 2006 to 2008 she held the prestigious scholarship given by the infamous Resedencia de Estudiantes in Madrid. She is part of the founding board of La Bella Varsovia and writes for numerous literary supplements in the Spanish press, […]

11 years ago

Árbol Genealógico (in Spanish)

Yo pertenezco a una raza de mujeres con el corazón biodegradable. Cuando una de nosotras muere exhiben su cadáver en los parques públicos, los niños se acercan para curiosear en su garganta de hojalata, se celebran festines con moscas y gusanos, me cae mal porque me hizo sonreír a mí, que soy tan triste. […]

13 years ago

Cumpleaños (in Spanish)

Los hombres de la familia de mi madre mueren antes de los cuarenta años. Se equivocan al encauzar su vida. Cuenta atrás: frenan el cariño, los recuerdos, no es posible echar de menos a quienes no conoces. Altos, jóvenes, un golpe de viento los convierte en cadáver. ¿Cómo lo impedirás? Podrías velar la agonía […]

13 years ago