Víctor Rodríguez Núñez

1 the weeds thick between sugar mill drums without batting an eye the moon strung through the smokestack’s pupil the connecting rod and piston shameless before the cane gone to seed rust scuffles with grease the toadstool atop the heap of  filings in the smoke box to be shielded from the abysmal ribbing infinite nuts to throw at the rustproof   head of the enemy Agabama spoon lunchless oxidation’s honor 2 you know by name every tool in the museum of wood within reach of the waves clamp brace brush set square boathouse in Coconut Grove withstood fourteen hurricanes like the soul transpires like the body transcends even the seagull recognizes you when you piss the sea three sheets to the wind rasp box of miter joints socket chisel the old cushionless rocking chairs rising up in pieces so you can spy on your childhood 3 they yell out but you don’t answer you’re in the yolk of a marabu patch no one looks for you where nothing can go not even the guinea hens running wild in secret you cleared a path one evening with your plaid shirt the only thing to get past the thorns is the voice of your mother meticulous like a hurricane you spread out over the dry corollas below a sky stripped of leaves by the clouds like a string of ants and you undress only for you to await the Indians 5 at the crossroads there’s a smell of mother crystallized sweat shadows in simple syrup an irrefutable knife between encrusted cans for coffee and lard there’s a taste of mother at the crossroads molasses in its light rice pudding soul a knife to cut everything but essence Peruvian guava ripened by flies the sharp destiny of a mother that can be wrapped in banana leaves 7 a dog facing a bookcase in the middle of see-through ruins the bookcase was the work of asthma there was a spot for the old oilcan the bunch of basil the goat tallow still the house curdled with books the dust’s bad temper the prompt unforeseeable water leak the dog was the work of no one a good swimmer did it all ’til its dying breath his ear bitten in the backwoods worms ate him alive now you do whatever you can to stop from howling Translated from the Spanish