Wait - Gladys Carmagnola

The Southern Cross comes to our appointment

every night, without fail.

Where are you? What orbit do you navigate

so that they haven't seen you anywhere?

What is your route? Your speed

is measured in light-years; or was that before?

I've spent so much time

practicing the habit of waiting for you.

Meanwhile, the Southern Cross

pretends to accompany me.

(Who knows where

it's fulfilling its tireless mission!)

Each time I see it

I feel here, in the torrent of my blood,

an irremediable

void.

Please don't arrive

too late.

---

Gladys Carmagnola (1939 – 2015) Paraguay

Translated by Susan Smith Nash

PROMETEO: Latinoamerican Poetry Magazine No 81-82. July 2008.