Grandfather Poem
after La Pastorita Huaracina
not a song, not a statement, not a country, not a man
radio
I
ought to bury you
in my chest.
The taxi-driver says they found a hand
by the park and he’s sorry most of all
and the newsmen all look (because they are)
like good industrialists, split from the first
fruit with a force like the spit the workers send
flying to the pavement. the woman with the knife
in her palm at the table not even noticing
he is dead. grandfather like nation
I
would like to forget you. in the sky
the stars
on earth
the spines
in my heart?
to music [the administrant says] a huayno
as white as the white city
my father says (the way the politicians
say) that he died by coincidence
in all the dress of a poem. machine,
filth, and contradiction. crumbling
like hospital, I
ought to slip a palm
right through you
I, can hardly see
myself between the lines
of two torsos
in the street as definite as the mountains
that flank them. an old man with lungs
long since failed. helmet, boots, youthful
stance. far from each other. singular point.
kisses pouring from intersection.
my mother’s eyes as singular point.
and one body
whose bruises shine white
like street lamps making maps
in receding distance.
not a song, not a statement, not a country, not a man,
in the sky, on earth, in my heart, I would like
to die, to forget you,
Patricio Pino is a poet, a person, and a problem.
Excellent poem!! Thank you for sharing!