Poem
Luisa Futoransky
TODAY I BURN THE STUBBLE
to bepassing through
this map that sometimes shrouds
but never shelters
life, my life, a dry cracked
pampa without thistles, that always aches
at the mercy of
the whirlwind
the hailstorm
will I ever smell the spring again
on my arms
in the nape of my neck,
the sockets of my eyes, my toes?
© Translation: 2019, Philippa Page
Hoy, chamizo
Hoy, chamizo
estarde paso
en este mapa que a veces cubre
pero no abriga
la mi vida, pampa sin abrojos
cuarteada, que siempre duele
a merced
del vendaval
la granizada
volveré a oler la primavera
en los brazos
la nuca, las órbitas
los dedos de los pies?
© 2016, Luisa Futoransky
Poems
Poems of Luisa Futoransky
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TODAY I BURN THE STUBBLE
to bepassing through
this map that sometimes shrouds
but never shelters
life, my life, a dry cracked
pampa without thistles, that always aches
at the mercy of
the whirlwind
the hailstorm
will I ever smell the spring again
on my arms
in the nape of my neck,
the sockets of my eyes, my toes?
© 2019, Philippa Page
TODAY I BURN THE STUBBLE
to bepassing through
this map that sometimes shrouds
but never shelters
life, my life, a dry cracked
pampa without thistles, that always aches
at the mercy of
the whirlwind
the hailstorm
will I ever smell the spring again
on my arms
in the nape of my neck,
the sockets of my eyes, my toes?
© 2019, Philippa Page
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