Let me gather the river with my hands
to guard it in my mouth,
may its current open a path for me
in the loneliness of silence.
That the cylinders which rise
like a blister on the shore
be a panpipe that praises the condor
and if the condor has been forgotten
may my wings be the shade that caresses both nations.
May the abandoned house in the south
never put out its flare,
I can see the smoke of nostalgia
from this new land,
from the water path.
The smoke brings butterflies every year,
and my heart follows them
yelling Papalotzin till I wake up.
Between the ground and sky
may my body always be a border,
let my tears stop being tears,
let these eyes cease being eyes,
let them be wide and traveling mirrors.
Que pueda recoger el rio con mis manos
para guardarlo en mi boca,
que su corriente me abra camino
en la soledad del silencio.
Que los cilindros que se levantan
como una llaga en la orilla
sean una zampoña que alabe al cóndor,
y que si se ha olvidado al cóndor
mis alas sean la sombra que acaricia las dos patrias.
Que la casa abandonada en el sur
nunca apague su antorcha,
desde la nueva tierra alcanzo a ver
el humo de la nostalgia,
del aguacamino.
Ese humo trae mariposas cada año,
y mi corazón las sigue
gritando Papalotzin hasta que despierto.
Que por entre el suelo y el aire
mi cuerpo sea siempre frontera,
que mi lagrima deje de ser lagrima,
que estos ojos dejen de ser ojos,
que sean espejos anchos y viajeros.
ROSSY LIMA, a writer and linguist, has been published in literary journals and magazines in the United States, Mexico, Canada, Venezuela, Argentina, Chile, and Spain. She received the 2009 Gabriela Mistral Award from by National Hispanic Honor Society. Lima organizes annual community poetry workshops in libraries, schools, and community centers.
