Sunday, May 17, 2009
Weary sojourner slept just before dawn.
Weighty curtains dropped like trailer doors
en la calle de perdición a Paseo Colón;
dreams of a melancholy whore
danced fluidly on sparkling, tawny sand,
flirted playfully with teasing waves,
nimbly avoided pink-lavender tentacles
reaching through el sueño's haze...
Dream visitor left a gift-- a smile,
suave voz tranquilo me susurró una cosa,
a thing nearest peace in a long while.
Hoy, no me siento triste puta sola.
*Inspiration for the title comes from Memoria de Mis Putas Tristes/Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. The city of Paseo Colón is where the narrator (of the story) lives.
*I used my poetic license to make "voz" masculine for my vision.