A Rainbow of Fire

Your Bobba embroidered that tablecloth with a rainbow of fire, showed the world she was more than just a simple country girl.

Years ago you gave it to your sister, thinking her the collector of heirlooms, thinking you – Lady of Zen – could live without a past.

Now, whether you like it or not, the ancestors have come to sit at your table, to bless the golden loaves, the goblets of wine.

I Am Thirsty Now

A woman is lying on the ground.
She can’t get up.
I think she will pull me down
into the earth.
I run,
I run from the earth.

My mother is lying on the ground.
She is sleep.
She is darkness.
She is tears.
She sucks the world into her belly
and it never comes out.
I run,
I run from my mother.

The ancestors are sitting in the corner
drinking wine.
They sing me songs of grief and joy
in an ancient language
my skin understands.
I do not want to go towards the earth.
The earth is sprinkled with their blood.
I run,
I run from their song.

Their arms are heavy and slow.
I think they want to put me in a box
and bury me beside them.
I become fast and light.
I run. I run. I grow wings. I fly.

Her arms were heavy and slow.
But they were arms that held,
that pinned me to one place
long enough to be loved

and the earth was a hill
we rolled down and down
and laughed at the tumble of our senses
and the earth
was my grandmother’s garden
where I picked raspberries
for the raspberry pie.

I am tired now.
Look at me:
I can’t even keep a single plant alive.
I walk on rubber,
watch landscapes on TV.
How long it’s been since I went outside.

I am thirsty now.
I cry when I see the men
dancing in a circle.
These are my people.
I long for them,
for the line of meaning
of bread
of hands
stretching back through time.

I am lying on the ground.
I am thirsty now
for a drink of that wine.

Village Rain

There is no rain,

my grandpa said,

like the rain in my village.

It made diamonds out of cobblestones

and turned the rooftops silver.

My Grandfather

Susanna's Bath

After Nuno Júdice

I enter the water, which smokes

with steam. Then I fetch The Luz

which surpasses in value all our gold.

My sombreness evaporates, so

fickle immobile, sobbing on cue.

Under the stars of São Oleos

the reflexes of my skin dissolve.

My spirit lifts in accordance

with The Luz, like a quietness that

is whispered. And when The Whole

is explained, described in blazing detail

on my body, around each curve,

I dance inside like a wild snake.

And today the stars are brilliant

like our ancestors of the world.

Enter. Fetch the water. I invite you.

Enter the bath, and we will do well

in the salt of the three courts, the

teeth of the caravans, those boxes that revolve. 

We will hear the chimes of the two sisters,

quiet as The Luz is quiet, 

whose cost is above all else.

Then freshen your skin with the sponge

for the hours have traversed us.

The NaPoWriMo prompt for today is to choose a poem in a language you don’t understand and then translate it into English based on the look of the words and their sounds. I have attempted a translation of O Banho de Susana by Nuno Júdice of Portugal. I did not look at the proper translation until I was finished. But when I did, I was rewarded; Júdice's poem is beautiful and worth reading.