Poetry
Two Poems

Two Poems

Dos Poemas

Malva Flores

I have forgotten the name of things.
In the midst of circuits, babbling
a few words without meaning
I seek the exact drawer in my brain
where one day I put away the voice
with which I used to call the water
of grapes wine;
as for bread,
I don’t recall.

The image appears but has no name
and now everything’s a silent movie
with objects drifting into gestures:
—pantomime in color, the tape
of Moebius where I run.

* * *

Let’s just say the transparency
of the tree
of the landscape
including cows.
Cows,
yes,
not ruminants or other
ways to say the same:

The cow has lineage and her prestige
does not depend upon the name: but rather
on its instantaneous mark on the meadow
like an advertisement that regains
its order.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *