H S I A   Y U
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THREE POEMS FROM SALSA

 

Translated by Andrea Lingenfelter

 

Soul

 

We receive a visitation from a woman long dead
We sense but see her not
Hear her voice directing us
To run the projector in our room (it is always
There) the hand-cranked machine reels
Tick it throws a cone of light (and it always is
A cone of light) that illuminates a circle across the room
And in that circle of light
She then appears

Just as every ghost is supposed to appear
Spellbound we forget to ask her for news of the world beyond the grave
She's drained of color
Like a frame in a black and white film

All of us here
Sitting in the dark become conscious we're in color
Feeling out of place we start to fidget
And mumble to ourselves

And suddenly we lose all recollection
This moment of awakening
A bit of rain falling
Awash with the fear
Of parting that will bring
An end to the rain in the
Warm room in the rain
In the warm warm warmth
Of the room
We always feel the wavering

 

 

 

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