Elisa Díaz Castelo
Traducción de Raúl Cubillas
My body is the opposite of yours.
Red moment at my birth, the dagger
of the blood, the delight or the shriek, the body
hollowing out, the placenta conjugating
the red with the shadow. Must be recognized:
two bodies that once were one
Can’t have a peaceful origin.
Can’t remain intact.
For example, the moon, we watch
without consideration, undressed:
I’ve asked you before how she was formed
and you told me the earth caught her [in its gravity]
It gave her a route and a destiny.
That’s untrue. Look at her,
anonymous and unstable, prone to shatter,
built into the night, watch her
from your brick house and myself
from the rooftop, as far off as ever.
We are too similar
which is justified by a third
party: a wandering planet, deprived
of orbits, crashed with ours and broke in pieces
in a brutal collision that has been erased
of the universe. From the remainings of
the cracked earth, unpolished,
the moon formed, out of the torn matter
smooth down with twists and turns.
And both of ‘em hold each other without
ever meeting
barely related, apprehended
at a distance by the ambiguous
embrace of the orbit, by a mild
gravity, diametrical. So us
at night, we talk to each other
out voices touch and wrap around
the copper. One of us will be always
the center of the other, both of us
perfect at our circumference
but absent from ourselves.
In our skin you shared your cells
and what I’ve inherited,
Though dazzling it consumes me.
Raúl Cubillas es estudiante de la licenciatura en Lengua y Literatura Hispánicas en la Universidad Veracruzana. Participó en el laboratorio de traducción parte del Coloquio San Jerónimo 2024. Ávido en la lectura y aficionado a la traducción.
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