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Poem

Juan Manuel Roca

Wrapped in Nothing

A priest slapped my face in the schoolyard because I wasn’t singing a hymn, and my cheek, after 40 years, is barely returned from that slap.

I saw in the turn of the cheek to the left the country that might have been, and in the turn to the right the burial of a dream.

Coming back from the slap, the house is growing loose like a borrowed coat. Needless to say I still haven’t sung the hymn and the hand of the priest to which I never gave the other cheek is wrapped in nothing.

ENVUELTO EN LA NADA

ENVUELTO EN LA NADA

Un cura me abofeteó en el patio del colegio porque no cantaba un himno, y mi mejilla, luego de 40 años, apenas regresa de aquella bofetada.

Vi en el giro de la mejilla hacia la izquierda el país que pudo ser, y en el giro a la derecha el encierro del sueño.

De regreso de la bofetada, ha empezado a holgar la casa como un sacón prestado. Sobra decir que sigo sin cantar el himno y la mano del cura al que nunca puse la otra mejilla está envuelta en la nada.
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Wrapped in Nothing

A priest slapped my face in the schoolyard because I wasn’t singing a hymn, and my cheek, after 40 years, is barely returned from that slap.

I saw in the turn of the cheek to the left the country that might have been, and in the turn to the right the burial of a dream.

Coming back from the slap, the house is growing loose like a borrowed coat. Needless to say I still haven’t sung the hymn and the hand of the priest to which I never gave the other cheek is wrapped in nothing.

Wrapped in Nothing

A priest slapped my face in the schoolyard because I wasn’t singing a hymn, and my cheek, after 40 years, is barely returned from that slap.

I saw in the turn of the cheek to the left the country that might have been, and in the turn to the right the burial of a dream.

Coming back from the slap, the house is growing loose like a borrowed coat. Needless to say I still haven’t sung the hymn and the hand of the priest to which I never gave the other cheek is wrapped in nothing.
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