The Procession - Claribel Alegría

There is a still silence
thinking me
another flayed silence
walking inside me
that is wound
and scream
and destroys me
and in the middle of night
the trunk lids creak open
slowly they open
slowly
and things creep out
in Sibylline order
they creep out
and fall squirming
to the floor:
moldering dolls
unusable keys
fragments of luminous cobwebs
odors of semen
and jasmine
and decay
and the things begin to crawl
across the rug
the procession begins
to unfold
the odors
the signs
the contacts
a repressed love
forgotten smiles
and the advancing procession
is like a wave
and faces filter through
closed eyelids
and voices filter through
fragments of a sob
and vertigo
and abyss
and birdcalls screeching
—the face of my life
of my death—
and I am alone in the night
and I am afraid.

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Claribel Alegría (1924 - 2018)  El Salvador (born in Nicaragua)
Translated by Darwin J. Flakoll
Source: BOMB Magazine