I wrote this poem when I was in Cuzco this past January, torn between giving an ex- a second chance and moving on.
The Andes do the talking
I can make more words;
words will labor
with all their might
to maintain my image of you, which cracks
so it takes more and more words,
through which the small pieces trickle
like sand through my hourglass.
I am going to let the Andes do the talking.
Se dice que los dioses viven ahí, which sounds
crazy, until you’ve seen them. My God lives there.
The Andes are healing me.
I want to stay until I am
corn with butter and salt, but choclo
con queso, until
I believe with all my heart that lunch
should be the biggest meal, until
I don’t need you anymore.
They will talk. They spoke before.
I don’t want you, but
I need you: the least healthy
combination. I no longer listen for your voice
that might never have the grace to speak
and I turn to those Andes quienes tocan
mi corazón y hablan con la gran voz