Drifting Thoughts

One slim glass of coca-cola iceless on wood mueble by my pillow where I rest my skin in motionless tranquility so as not to sweat in summer afternoon

adobe tile room,

150 pesos rusty golden coins, a receipt for tomatos, and old Motorola accompany the dewy glass as I sit

and occasionally miss my city as she drifts through my head like breath or waves,

and sometimes her memory even pounds against my bones like veins of blood trembling with heartbeat,

she will always be fuera de la realidad, for her hospitality is rough like pavement and her heart a jungle of chaos;

but her Dream is like roses, an oasis to my soul’s reality.

her promise has fed me, no matter if I fulfill, for the wind has always pushed me where I need to be…

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Fragments

The way his eyelids fold above his eyes when he glances upwards.

A radio station I’d only heard online, blasting in a clothing shop

where I traded $20 for 200 pesos.

The first taste of cold Fernet and coke, with ice.

Standing to wait in the street, instead of the sidewalk.

Hearing “feliz navidad” as I buy 2 liters of water for a sweltering day.

Walking on the handprint of Maradona, as though I were in a Hollywood

one million times more personally meaningful.

Every shower freezing, like a baptism each time.

Crepes of caramel and the blackest beer in the house,

lying sick in my bunk, next to a future lifelong friend

who offered me a walk on the beach,

but I was leaving that day.

last night, ultimately alone, Mendoza,

empanadas, spaghetti, too much, never enough

of that restaurant with the flag in the window.

the chico in the plaza playing mad guitar with his

girlfriend watching proudly on the bricks.

no shame anywhere, and personal sadness

only under a thick layer of empathetical radiance.

our last moments in each other’s presence,

spent in pointed silence.

regret for not loving you sooner,

passionate nerves vibrating for the future.

My small green silk journal from abuela.

the chair he pulled out for me

salsa I pretended to dance,

wondering if he was intentionally edging

so close to my mouth.

the City at dawn, garage doors over each shop,

-except the Farmacia-

the cigarette between his lips,

no fingers used to keep in place,

instead interlaced with mine,

despite my numb.

Chinese food and flan,

dinner on the hostel’s bench by his side,

why didn’t I kiss him in the shower

upstairs, while everyone ate?

the hostel worker who “waved good-bye”

to his return plane to Mexico, D.F.

the New York man, searching for his “latin lover”

no Spanish in his yankee vocabulary,

curing a hangover with a mar-gar-it-ah,

memorable.

the taxi driver who took me to my return airport,

promised me “nada es imposible”.

demasiados adioses.

the stars of Santiago city lights shimmering

along with my tears, crying together in solemnity

as Soda Stereo filled my ears,

knowing I had not meant to leave.

La Ausencia

Hoy llovía,

pienso en Buenos Aires y tu alma.

Imaginé tus hombros

y recordé tu escritura.

Hoy las calles se mojaron

de mis ansiedades

que caen como lágrimas

en el silencio de tus oídos ausentes.

Hoy se abrió el cielo

y sentía tu rostro angélico

en el gran vacío

que no posee dirección ni sentido.

Capaz que estés viviendo

en el olvido de mis pasos

en tu camino.

Capaz que estés aguantando

así.

Pero yo aguanto por saber de ti

y mis huesos se sienten

vacíos

con tu mente tan lejos de aquí.

Anhelandote

           Aun recuerdo tus palabras.

Duelo porque necesito.

suelo bloquear recordar las sensaciones

de nuestra noche

para que no me duela.

Pero duelo igual.

ansío sentir tu lengua

atrás mis labios,

en los cóncavos de la cueva

donde reside mi alma,

el portal por cual pasan

mis promesas y proclamas,

desde una garganta de fuego–

cien grados del anhelo

que calentó mi corazón

por cuyas cámaras suenan tus ecos;

que en un nivel de mi piel

y del tiempo,

aún me estas tocando:

te siento,

como un beso eterno–

un lazo

que hicimos una noche imprevista.

Al recordar me enloquezco,

al amanecer la oportunidad me escapó,

ahora temo a menudo.

Acá la esperanza suele caer…