Five O’Clock Tea

      A cup of tea with its leaves dissolved at the bottom: there is an eye down there that has gone astray, there is a mouth that did not find its voice, there is a leg gone crooked in the middle of the road, there is a hand that does not know how to sew. There is a secret map of a by-now uninhabitable city where you lived. There is an inaudible call, there is a music that could turn your soul back from inside-out, were you to listen.

      But there is another hand of yours that fills the cup again in order to hide the bottom, so that you may not see more, may not see yourself.

Té de las cinco

      Una taza de té con sus hojas dispersas en el fondo: hay allí un ojo extraviado, hay una boca que no halló la palabra, hay una pierna atravesada en medio del camino, hay una mano que no sabe coser. Hay un mapa secreto de una ciudad ya inhabitable donde viviste. Hay un llamado inaudible, hay una música que podría volverte el alma del revés, si la escucharas.

      Pero hay otra mano tuya que vuelve a llenar la taza para tapar el fondo, para que no veas más, para no verte.