Poems / Poemas

By the river I met my future self

No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man. — Heraclitus (6th Century B.C.) Walking along the Aare river I stop to see the water flow And think of Heraclitus’ dictum Ahead of me I spot a woman Wait, is that me? Same…

Que no acabe así

en la bici, camino al trabajo, me asalta un pensamiento podríamos morir en este instante en este radiante día de invierno antes de que la rueda de otra vuelta aplastados por su furia como cáscaras de huevo nuestras vidas en sus manos su cabeza llena de demonios como en aquel entonces, pero peor en el…

Let it not end here

As I bike to work a thought overtakes me We could all die now On this gorgeous winter day Before the wheel completes one more turn Crushed by his angry, mighty blow Like eggshell Our lives in his hands His head full of demons Like then, only worse At the red light a child in…

Away from the shopping frenzy

I couldn’t go to the mall The crowded shops terrorise me Instead, I walk into the solace of nature And in the roar of silent snow, Surrounded by total whiteness I catch my breath and calm my mind And I know that I love you I will wrap this certitude in Christmas paper

Their Lives

I never thought the pain would be physical Like a hole next to my heart Or is it here, close to the gut? ¿En las entrañas? (I never cared much for anatomy) So many years busy being parents Groceries to buy, forms to fill, meals to cook So much running around We were getting good…

In Nature, Everything is Connected

Confessions of a voyeuse I bike away from cars, buildings, cement Into nature I crave the connection, the experience of the spiritual I sit, camouflaged, surrounded only by trees, birds and minuscule species Ready to tune in to the energetic, the primal current, the breathing earth No human voice, just the distant sound of water,…

Las justas

Una variación sobre un poema de Borges (Los justos) Una mujer que labra la tierra, como lo hiciera su madre. La que compone un poema bajo la luz de la luna, mientras amamanta un niño. La que reconoce y nombra el dolor del otro. Dos mujeres que acompañan un enfermo en su lecho de muerte….

Laisse-moi te dire de vive-voix

A côté d’un “passe-moi le sel” Et un “on doit emmener la voiture au garage” Laisse-moi te dire Que tu m’as rendu heureuse toutes ces années. Avant qu’un éclair ne mette fin à nos vies Laisse-moi te dire à l’oreille que j’aime tes bras. Que tu es un mât auquel je m’accroche. Moi, oiseux libre,…

While we’re still here

Along with “pass me the salt” And “we have to take the car to the garage” Let me just say, You’ve made me happy all these years Before lightning ends your life or mine Let me whisper in your ear That I crave your embrace That you’re the mast I gladly cling to I, an…


Ya nadie mas se sentará en el Eames lounge chair A todos les quedará grande Solo ella, con su mirada ancestral, podía presidir desde allí, observando impávida el ir y venir de vidas agitadas Podría uno confundir su actitud con soberbia Pero no, era la sabiduría de quien está de vuelta de todo y calla…

The Visionary

He said there’d be a bar

He saw the glittering glasses, the single malt whiskey bottles

He probably heard the guests’ laughter

We looked around the room


“El mar está cerrado” dice un policía, obstruyéndome el paso “Por pandemia”, añade, “se cierra los martes” Perpleja contemplo el mar Cuerpo continuo de agua que rodea la tierra “Este mar es anterior a su vida y la mía, señor agente” Generoso, magnánimo, soberbio Aquí estaba antes de la peste bizantina Cuando el numero de…

Mo’ther (mudh-), n. A female parent.

My mother was neither cradle nor lap

She was a sword, an arrow, an argument

Beautiful, sharp, and feline

Neither refuge nor anchor, my mother was a battle

Preferiría ser árbol

Observo impotente el dolor, la violencia, la muerte

Y me digo que preferiría ser árbol

A step at a time

We load the car with your grief and mine

Two suitcases and the guitar

A home called Trudi

Money, power, titles, aesthetics, social class, or eloquence, never impressed her

The Therapist

It would be a voyage, she said

The destination: a more genuine, examined, less fragmented, version of myself


Where does the mind disappear to when bad news strikes us?

Note to Self

You will keep forgetting what day of the week it is.

But you will rejoice with the warmth of spring sunshine on your face

El oído de Dios

Mirar el río hasta devenir río

¿Acaso no estamos hechos de agua?


Hoy vi a la viejita que llevo adentro

Determinada, atrevida se asomó sin escrúpulos

Corrientes subcutáneas

Con cada inhalación me vuelvo más agua, menos carne, menos hueso

Melba, the weaver

Melba became a pampered toddler; mothered by plenty, mothered by none

Cocofina of the World

I remember Cocofina of the world

Her back turned to the bedroom’s window

Eyes shut, chin up, taking deep breaths