She took the words for a stroll
and the words bit the children
and the children told their parents
and the parents loaded their guns
and the words wailed, howled
slowly licked their blind wounds
until they fell flat on their faces
onto the bloody earth
and death came then
dressed in its Sunday best
to stop by the poet’s house
and call to him with desperate cries
and the poet opened the door
not knowing what had happened
and he saw death hanging from its shadow
and sobbing
it told him, “Come with me
today we’re in mourning”
“Who died,” asked the poet
“Well, you,” replied death
and death extended its arms to him
to offer condolences.
Mario Meléndez (Chile, 1971), translated from Spanish by Eloisa Amezcua
from Poetry (issue September 2017), to buy the magazine: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/subscribe