we planned our exit carefully

we planned our exit carefully

packed the little we had,
and left our village,
así no más, two steps and one, two steps and one,
the things we could see behind us became smaller, so we counted our steps to multiply something lost
be it the taxonomy of shoes, shirts, buttons, and what mother called sentimental jewelry, which included a pin, a fan, an old pan

the height took the hill

behind, a stove flame and the forgotten bulb in the corridor – that was so beautiful, sighed mother
and how the light flickered with tension on my lips and cheek, sudden but deep, bluish but clumsy, que ocurría una vez al mes durante muchos años
now we hesitated in an open space with no contour – not my corridor
is this the etiquette of crossing?
respect, courtesy and consideration, someone said
but why does it matter now, now that we have turned into shadows, and not everyone will keep the pace}
it matters because of the desert creatures, and you never know
you never know, we prayed to ourselves

uncertainty and uncertainty and

so was uncertainty out there
the clouds looked like hissing trees, harbinger,
árboles de mal agüero, decorado con muebles viejos,
and on the ground, scratched branches and lines of previous crossers like us
no premonitory dreams, just a long path, harbinger,
it must be the dusty hair or the cold mouth at the wrong detour, maybe we should know when to go, si el lunes, el martes o el jueves

we sure left something

next to the armchair, islands of cigarettes, insisted father
the finger drew tiny circles on the white head leaning on the hand as he walked,
an old habit, like when the ceiling beams shook,
that was spooky, he laughed, so was the inexistent lunch, porque no había qué comer, then we pretended that
lunch was optional, so was the ventilator y las tantas horas de servicio y de uniformes las actividades eran en la secretaría, repeated father, as if he was still employed
as he walked, he complained of his own excesses of cleaning la planta baja, a unas cuadras de casa,
ahí estaba el edificio oficial en que una vez trabajó

the red string 

must be the air
a thorn
a fire
a chance
our looks met
and something stopped

collected

in the desert,
there was sand, then the edges
of the gone front door – is the water in the kettle still boiling? is the light in the corridor still on?
we had to leave, harbinger,
and someone had to stay – I saw it
the light shone in the puddle where it does not rain
when there was wind
the night is like cinema
we fought for our village to have one
sure it was Wednesday
airplanes crossed the sky escaping the blackness
those transparent perforations of a single sheet stretched from A to B
someone must be looking for us, the presagers, said father
pasajeros, corrected mother

you stayed

seated on the armchair, by the window
abuela, perdón, pero you were not going to be of any use to us,
we sure left something on the armchair,
I told you we’d be back, and as I moved away, I counted in steps, in duets plus one, dos y uno, dos y uno,
on record players and you raised your adiós
but your hands hid an anthill,
a ruin got passed from hand to hand – generations
and you no longer knew what was being passed
what matters is the game, you said, to be able to hide the anthill

the kid

dreaming of ants, and creatures and airplanes that pierced our feet as we went,
saw flies, bugs, spiders, ants,
thousand-eyed families, ethnic groups like us coming from nowhere, going nowhere,
we were a legion of antennae, and the kid loved what I said,
better to love it, I thought, looking at the kid’s protruded stomach, his dried hands
touching his buttocks,
the stings on his body,
the blood young and sweet made the insects follow him

mirage

the boy laughed amused at
the unfamiliar word – mirage
yes, it’s an optical illusion, like an ice ball far away,
looking for a soccer field with that metal thing to score a goal – you know?
who is going to live? the kid asked back, with hungry wise eyes, and he added me, me, me
then drink from the cactus, said mother
clean and wash, added father,
prickle the borders and the stars, the kid understood
and nature floated imperceptibly under
that was our underground, but mother corrected, playground

fragments 

we got there, but after days of crossing only three made it
the kid, harbinger and me: we’re family now – because families stay stronger, so we said, and in a community there’s a sense of security, learned the kid, so hope was everywhere
before we disappeared again, dusted in the air, touching each other, the visible ruins, pale-yellow mud clowns and voices,
a black dog came and sniffed us,
he knew we were alive – nobody at this point dies, dijo el perro, nadie ya se muere, and he turned towards the future, and walked with us, the kid in my arms, harbinger, and those fragments we refused to leave behind