Tuesday, December 28, 2010
And I am Simply here to Translate for Her: a good person, a child, a mother, mi Madre.
It is not I, Edith, who says it. --Don’t you see?
I am listening to the Ears speak. They do!
They too have a language, la langue du Verso
that Sings when it’s bid and answers on its knees
and whispers to the scarlet leaves plashed
along the face of Mother Earth. Only she knows
this verse. The Wanderer, Ovid, and Sor Juana,
her humblest servants and her devoutest.
Mother surpassed them all for what she gained
through the ravages of poverty. She earned
her freedom from greed's passions, mi Madre
who with harshest deprivations was pained.
She has so much to say that she murmurs,
and I'm only here to translate for her.