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The Risk


The Risk
Whenever there’s an electoral crisis my loyal red horse
directs air traffic one person at a time
climate never in my favor
if I look inside, the awful fish delivers me
from the work of forever-fog
there are two sorts of fish
those that go from stone to stone
raincoat-clad toward some or other place
or those that manage to get all the way here, one by one,
happy to inherit every illusion,
still the phallus as such doesn’t exist
don’t confuse the moment of this cot with God
on this night where my night jumps into the night
on this night where the mattress,
Whenever there’s an electoral crisis
every moment remains
in the scene where I watch over
my vulva like a magic light.
I face victory for the umpteenth time.
the difficulty’s in the moment I barely survive
when the great clawed bird
keeps me from flying.
Translation by José A. Villar-Portela

Yosie Crespo (Photo courtesy of the author)

Yosie Crespo
(Photo courtesy of the author)

Yosie Crespo was born in Pinar del Río, Cuba. She has published in poetry: Solárium (Miami, Baquiana, 2012) and La ruta del pájaro sobre mi cabeza (Madrid, Torremozas, 2013). She lives in Miami.

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Esta entrada fue publicada el 08/02/2015 por en Poesía.
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