Because Death Is This Feeling

Because death is this feeling of emptiness and nothing,
this voice that arrives like a whirlwind blowing everything away,
when they killed that woman
when they shot that man
we just stood there silent in the smoke.
Shame for the bones that multiply with every dreaded dawn,
shame for frozen fingers,
for guts that stiffen hidden from the sun, from roaring air.
Tide of blood
licking feet with names and surnames
photo angles
and a final red smile like any crimson blossom.
Song of a woodcutter from far away,
cries of a mechanic to accompany it,
and the work grows steadily in fears and silences,
and the street is a risk,
you think twice before going out for groceries or a meal
or to stretch like a wounded seagull
on the island, preserve of predators
where blood gets cheaper every day.

Translated by JoAnne Engelbert

Jeannette Miller is a poet, artist, and art critic. Among her many publications are La pintura de Noemí Ruíz y la poesía visual del trópico (1996), El paisaje dominicano: pintura y poesía (1992), Fórmulas para combatir el miedo: 1962-70 (1972), Estadías: poemas (1985), and Fichas de identidad: poemas (1985).

...