El año del conejo

On The Origins Of Things by Troy Jollimore

Everyone knows that the moon started out
as a renegade fragment of the sun, a solar
flare that fled that hellish furnace
and congealed into a flat frozen pond suspended
between the planets. But did you know
that anger began as music, played
too often and too loudly by drunken performers
at weddings and garden parties? Or that turtles
evolved from knuckles, ice from tears, and darkness
from misunderstanding? As for the dominant
thesis regarding the origin of love, I
abstain from comment, nor will I allow
myself to address the idea that dance
began as a kiss, that happiness was
an accidental import from Spain, that the ancient
game of jump-the-fire gave rise
to politics. But I will confess
that I began as an astronomer—a liking
for bright flashes, vast distances, unreachable things,
a hand stretched always toward the furthest limit—
and that my longing for you has not taken me
very far from that original desire
to inscribe a comet's orbit around the walls
of our city, to gently stroke the surface of the stars.

See you soon

Cambio climático

Inundaciones en París

Breath

Dicen los médicos que me ahogo porque voy a romper a llorar en cualquier momento. Parece que van a abrirse las compuertas, que ahora se puede, que me ahogo como si me hubieran robado un pulmón porque ya está, ya se está acabando este exorcismo. Mientras tanto, suben mi medicación a cotas más altas y tengo mal de altura. Por eso, señores, cojan sus cubitos de playa, los paragüas, pongan a salvo las puertas de sus casas, abran las alcantarillas, porque voy a romper a llorar y se esperan riadas en las calles, inundaciones, peces desorientados, cocodrilos por las calles, objetos imposibles obturando los desagües. Están avisados. En cualquier momento va a sobrevenirme un llanto milenario y definitivo.