Chega a hora de sair, por fin
na inmensidade aberta da tarde
agardan as baldosas frescas da casa
que aguanta ben o asedio do sol
Afora as herbas non afeitas ao novo clima
amosan un abraio amarelo, porén, adentro
a madeira marrón do chan na penumbra
arrastra a mente a navegacións oceánicas
en cada cuarto un novo libro
unha caricia en cada leve roce
No entanto,
antes de poder abrazar
tanta liberdade
encontro a porta forzada
e no sofa e nas paredes,
na cociña e nos baños
as manchas
onde ela pousou
as suas mans que afogan
pechando as contras
bloqueando as entradas da vida
non consigo desfacerme dela,
convencela de migrar
cara hábitats máis adaptados
aos seus velenos invisíbeis
así segue inmutábel
o seu aceno lacerante
cubrindo nunha dinámica de borralla
os máis doces manxares
as máis refrescantes expectativas
End of the Summer Shift
At last, it's time to leave.
In the afternoon's open vastness
the cool floor tiles of home await,
a house that stands firm
against the sun's relentless siege.
Outside, the grasses, unaccustomed to the new climate,
wear a startled yellow; inside,
the brown wooden floor in the half-light
draws the mind into ocean voyages.
In every room, a different book;
in every gentle brush, a caress.
And yet,
before I can embrace
so much freedom,
I find the door forced open,
and on the sofa and the walls,
in the kitchen and the bathrooms,
the stains
where she laid
her drowning hands,
shutting the shutters,
blocking every entrance to life.
I cannot rid myself of her,
cannot persuade her to migrate
towards habitats better suited
to her invisible poisons.
So she remains, unmoving,
her lacerating gesture
covering, like a spreading layer of ash,
the sweetest delicacies,
the most refreshing expectations.
abel abilheira 