From poemario inédito
The Human in the Cart
“I entered through such a strange labyrinth
ending the fragile thread of life
the late-discovered disillusionment”
I saw him asleep,
with his Corsican nose raised to the air
face of papier-maché and flesh
poetically raw
eyes closed like someone remembering
the drums of Loíza
in the Libre Soberao
from the frozen foods aisle.
He had horns bent by time
a real nose
a mother’s nose
that sniffs out history without reading it
the nose of an old communist who knew
how chains can shine
like Sunday specials.
Through books, I sell books.
The cart contained him,
cold metal grid,
supermarket wheels that squeak
like a detuned cuatro.
A human on pause,
a silence between carnivals,
escorted by empty shelves
and cameras that don’t understand masks.
Labyrinth
well
deep
But I saw him…
And I swear his mask was crying,
that his eyes dreamed of foam,
that his nose still smelled
the sweat of the ancestors
dancing freedom, freeing in the classroom
on every corner
of the captive Caribbean.
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