From the Bridge - Claribel Alegría

I have freed myself at last

it has been hard to break free

near the end of the bridge

I pause

the water flows below

a turbulent water

sweeping fragments with it:

the voice of Carrmcn Lira

faces I loved

that disappeared.

From here

fropm the bridge

the perspective changes

I look backward

toward the beginning:

the hesitant silhouette

of a little girl

a doll

dangling from her hand

she lets it drop

and walks toward me

now she's an adolescent

gathers up her hair

and I recognize this gemure

stop, girl

stop right there

if you come any closer

it will be diflicult to talk

Don Chico died

after seven operations

they let him die

in a charity hospital

they closed Ricardo's school

and he died as well

during the earthquake

his heart failed.

Do you remember the massacre

that left Izalco wilhout men?

You were seven years old.

How can I explain lo you

nothing has changed

they keep on killing people daily?

It's better if you stop there

I remember you well at that age

you wrote honeyed poems

were horrified by violence

taught the neighborhood children

to read.

What would you say

if I told you that Pedro

your best student

rotted in jail

and that Sarita

the little blue-eyed girl

who made up stories

let herself be seduced

by the eldest son

of her emploers

and afterwards sold herself

for twenty-fice cents?

You've taken another step

you wear your hair short

have textbooks under your arm

poor deluded creature

you learned lhe consolations

of philosophy

before understanding

why you had to be consoled

your books spoke to you

of jusltce

and carefully omitted

the injustice

that has always surrounded us

you went on with your verses

searched for order in chaos

and that was your goal

or perhaps your condemnation.

You are coming closer now

your arms filled with children

it is easy to disract yourself

playing mother

and shrink the world

to a household.

Stop there

don't come any closer

you still won't recognize me

you still have to undergo

the deaths of Roque

of Rodolfo

all those innuntcmblc deaths

that assail you

pursue you

define you

in ordcr to dress in this plumage

(my plumage of mourning)

to peer out

through those pitiless

scrutinzing eyes

to have my claws

and this sharp beak.

I never found the order

I searched for

but always a sinister

and well-planned disorder

that increases in the hands

of those who hold power

while the others

who clamor for

a more kindly world

a world with less hunger

and more hopefulness

die tortured

in the prisons.

Don't come any closer

there's a stench of carrion

surrounding me.

---

Claribel Alegría (1924 - 2018)  El Salvador (born in Nicaragua)

Translator not stated

Source: Counterstorytelling