Two Visions in One World, and: Resolving Differences

44 the minnesota review Lake Sagaris Two Visions in One World Coldness begins in an icy seed planted in the tired flesh of the bare foot The roots plunge themselves into the veins their frozen fingers emptying everything. Like ivy, the cold clutches the walls of legs and climbs them. Passing through ragged barriers like a squadron of soldiers shooting freezing bullets. (I was just passing by when from a bus I saw them in the treelined Parque Forestal That park of green velvet luxurious trees bragging and tasting the last summer sun. In the park where water and light give birth to hot diamonds of beauty swinging in the branches and travelling in the elegant fountain boat.) Two creatures made of bone and dirt looking in the garbage for a bit of bread a bit of forgotten sausage a memory of life that rejected them. I could hardly believe they were human. They weren't white, black, brown. Their pigment had been loaned to them by the dust from the street. Their legs were two posts of the poorest fence Dirt and death had written their names across them in the night. In the river Mapocho river of mud 45 sagaris that runs hunched over through Santiago the rats eat better than those two human trees their skeletal branches moaning in this, humiliated, Chile. (In the bus someone exclaimed with pleasure How beautiful the park is today!) Resolving Differences One time, I made a salad of celery and something throwing everything into a bowl with oil, lemon and salt, the water from the package. You arrived, and yelled and we remained seated at the same table, you, in your country, me, in mine, trying to explain vegetables in my country arrive supersanitary and you yelling through your forehead and your eyes you have to wash everything here. I didn't know you. You didn't know me. But at night in bed we explored the wet earth of sex the seeds of touching and being touched planted in your fingers and in mine. The dark night of your hair leaving stars in my mouth. Your skin a white boat a song of waves and curls in my hands. Once you arrived, arrived! at last at the airport. I was waiting with my language ready in my mouth 46 the minnesota review and you arrived with a foreign kiss, new sentences made with the uncertain subjunctive. I hardly knew you. You hardly knew me. And the jealousy when we passed through Quebec and a friend of mine, from conferences and bed; your hunger which ate me scared me — I felt swallowed by a man I didn't know who didn't know me. But at night we went opening words and borders and windows I vibrated like the sun in the curves of your legs on the wild animal of your chest, that wire of fire and longing, that searches through absence and constructs a storm of fire and trees. And, once, I kissed you— bye bye— you left and disappeared wooden hands beat you electric teeth ate you an unknown woman cut your hair. Light sharp fingers gathered up your beard growing on the cheeks I used to visit looking for blackberry juice. A man arrived at my mother-in-law's house short hair, a hard, naked face I entered, looked and sat down, calmly I didn't know you. I don't know if you knew me. And we found each other again in bed, in the kitchen, the living room, even the bathroom, with the water erasing scars of fear and the high price of love. I lost you, you found me, we crossed the sweaty bridge of flesh. Blood running along the roads of my veins Toward the smile growing on your tongue. ...