Of things as they are
(Barnacle, 2022)
Where does your truth live?
on the train
leo to a Peruvian poet
they ask him
what is the secret of the poem
where does your truth live
every time i get the answer
they distract me
the candies and the boys up front
they mislead me
the policeman and his gun
the falling sky
over the trees
sheep
why didn’t you come to my wagon?
no
we have not been formally introduced
nor elegant sport
we have not shaken hands
nor have we shared a bed
and?
way to the train
soon to sail from Retiro
I left bread crumbs
I scared away the pigeons
—I always have a cat in my pocket—
I’m not wearing perfume today
I wanted to make things easier for you
I waited for you in the third car
I counted curly sheep that jump fences
clocks make me nervous
you did not come
what do I do with so many sheep
crowded among the passengers?
Epiphany
I listen to a song by Peter Frampton
sitting on the subway
I think of my brother
I say I have to forgive him
because he didn’t know
what he was doing to me
and all that occurs to me
looking at a blue comb
dirty
lying on the wagon floor
S O S
a blow
lame flower beds and crosses
those below comment
here comes a new one
my brother
hurry up a few steps
towards the drawer
expect a cool dry wind
to dismantle
the bitter heat of January
soon someone will throw
a handful of dry land
on the lid
my mother
inside
maybe it got hit
on the way
maybe the clothes
it has run out of place
there is no one to help her
Amor
I let you caress my books
the slippery tops
and the rough lids
I let you read the first page
that you scrutinize the photo of the author
and the preface
I observe the movement of the yolks
how do you arch your fingers
to recognize the sacred ground
of the words in trance
how do you go through the paragraphs
those playpens
where the words
they stand still
while we
we prepare the coffee
out of the corner of my eye
I stop in the corner
where do you put your right forefinger
the aroma that jumps from the paper
with the running of the leaves
accidentally splashes us
things as they are
on cloudy days
it is possible to see things
as they are
the tree
it is cruel branches
tangle of dead toes at his feet
suns that dignify
broken tiles
mosses around
dry the green
low men shoes
roots like stones
tie to shoelaces
Said Rodolfo Edwards: With a magnifying glass of great magnification, Escobar manages to perceive even the molecules scattered through the air, he perceives the aura of the elements that surround us (do they threaten?) in the daily bustle, putting together disturbing choreographies.
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Paola Escobar (Buenos Aires, 1971) He has been writing since he was seven years old. She did creative writing workshops and continues to learn. She is a Social Anthropologist. she integrated Searches: anthology of writers from San Isidrocompiled by Bea Lunazzi (2011). things as they are (Barnacle, 2022) is his first published book. Almost every morning she listens to the song “Mr. Blue Sky” by Electric Light Orchestra.
@paola_escobar1971
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