Letter to my father, Rodrigo Escobar Navia Today, the 6th of November in 2020, you would have turned 86. It is not by chance that I find myself here, in this library, reading Borges. How you loved Borges! So much so that I scattered your ashes on the grave of the celebrated argentine, in Geneva’s…
Mi madre no era un arrullo ni un regazo
Era un sable, una saeta, un argumento
Bella, aguda, felina
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