Читать книгу Selfi americano - Curtis Bauer - Страница 11

None of this surprises you now,

does it? I’m not sure I can know that,

I responded to myself.

Or I think I did.

I should have.

A friend told me to embrace

my disorientation here, to attend

to it and dwell in that state, make it

a daily practice, like walking,

or drinking coffee.

I’ve walked through this city

countless times these last five months.

Months ago, I couldn’t

distinguish Bulnes from Pueyrredón,

prostitutes from neighbors on Córdoba.

I was learning to walk

through the nuances of this city.

Everything has changed:

I push into the subte; my wife

still can’t buy tampons, women

think protest will change

something; hope, that lingering

scent jasmine blooms on a warm day,

but it dissipates

and I forget it ever existed.

I was surprised

when my friend told me she had cancer.

I thought then

I’d never not think of her.

Tonight Buenos Aires is a protest

in response to a recent murder:

a 14-year-old girl, pregnant, killed

by her 16-year-old boyfriend and buried

with his parents’ help in their backyard.

Ni Una Menos, Not One Less.

I haven’t thought of my friend

for the last month.

Maybe I’ve misplaced her,

the astonishment

that once joined me on my walks.

Can we always dwell inside

an unsettled state?

Early on I thought of her

as I explored. The night

I wrote her, her partner

responded, My heart’s heavy.

I have to tell you Jackie died last Friday.

Death, I expected hers . . .

but I thought I’d see her again,

have an opportunity to tell her

about surprises here losing luster.

I don’t know which way

to turn, how to understand

this. I had a stone

I was going to give her, but

I threw it into a pond and watched

the undulations calm,

erase the evidence

every ripple.