I wasn’t a robinsoncrusoe,
nor did I bite the apple like some eve,
nor follow in drake’s footsteps,
nor discover the x-rays that later revealed your bones.
No, I didn’t take part in assaults on foreign ports,
I didn’t travel, I didn’t explore, I didn’t capsize in storms, I neither discovered nor renewed.
I did nothing at all.
I was expelled from eden but not of my own accord.
Like a fish out of water,
dehydrating, the dry skin of the elderly loses its firmness, it wrinkles. Jawbones want to undress themselves, disgusted by their ugly covering. Skulls are in a hurry to be uncovered.
But we elderly are not like fish out of water, because without water a fish dies.
Our lives are not rivers,
that go to empty into the sea.
A dry riverbed, mankind,
forgetting everything, senile,
returns to its childhood.
*From HAMARTIA HATCHET by Carmen Boullosa (©2020 White Pine Press).
Carmen Boullosa (Mexico 1954) is a leading Mexican poet, novelist and playwright. She has authored more than 30 titles.