By
IVÁN
OÑATE
(ecuador)
THE BORDER
Translated by JULIO MARZÁN
1.
Once again the border.
Once again this awaking
in a ratty hotel
on the brink of nothingness,
Right up to the line
that demarcates of everything;
Country, dream,
home sweet home,
the evolution of the species,
social security,
the family.
Up to the vertigo,
where my bones
lose their nerve,
detach from my skin,
on sensing the approach of nothingness.
Think it through, they say,
think about it,
and huddle in a knot in the center of the fear.
The border.
2.
Downstairs,
at one hundred meters from my window,
two men argue and each
threatens to shoot the other.
No far from them,
on an abandoned highway of
this broken-down country,
zigzagging not to hit fallen posts,
disemboweled horses,
and the mist not of morning
arising from the backs of dogs,
a dim-wit motorcyclist
plays at postponing his suicide.
18
Bang!
At that moment somebody felt bad for him.
BRN-SPRING-2015.indb 18
In the air I can make out
the release of his spirit
blending with gasoline fumes.
3/29/15 11:41 AM