Luna Miguel

lunamiguel11

 

YOU HAD GLITTER ON YOUR FINGERS

I can hug the old refrigerator before they take it away.
I can write that you had glitter on your fingers and that burning glitter smells like a fairy tale.
I can bite the cat’s tail.
I can bite my husband’s beard, because it is mine, because it is mine and tastes like fruit.
I can cry and say that I’m crying, and not feel embarrassed by my pink cheeks.
I can be sappy.
I can dance naked with the windows open.
I can paint each nail a different color.
I can clean the house only once a week.
I can refuse to read the news.
I can refuse to hear the planes.
I can refuse to feed the mosquitoes with my thick, viscous blood.
I can invent a lullaby for deaf children, the only thing missing is a voice, the only thing missing is a long neck where we can resound.
I can say that we are scared.
I can say that hunger is an invention of our teeth so they don’t feel so alone.
I can write the word cancer a thousand times, because cancer reproduces a thousand times. It is a relentless killer, and I am also a relentless killer, and I swear I will get my revenge.
I can dream I’m kissing a made-up poet.
I can dream I’m a drop of acid rain.
I can use up all my Candy Crush lives until I finally feel that I have died. That I have died in the magical world of the candies.
I can leave the gas on.
I can light all the candles.
I can invite domestic catastrophes, cut off my finger, or cut off my nipple, or cut off a single hair and afterward eat up all my remains.
I can wish for a baby.
I can want a baby.
I can love the stupid and sweet idea of longing for a baby with all my guts.
I can make love with myself.
I can knock myself up with self-love.
I can say me, me, me, me, me and me, and still be here alone.
I can breathe underwater.
I can entertain myself with any fly.
I can collect photographs of my mother and stick her pale face on the wings of a dove.
I can fly.
I can fly.
I can set fire to everything when it pleases me.
The air here smells like fairy dust.
There is no more glitter.
There are no more sparkles.
I hug the old fridge.
There is no more body.

* *

Image: Luna Miguel

Luna miguelLuna Miguel I’m 23 and live in Barcelona. I’ve published books of poetry and fiction. I write for PlayGround. I edit for El Gaviero Ediciones. I’m on Twitter and Instagram at @lunamonelle.
Ostmann fotoJulia Ostmann translates from Spanish. Currently she studies creative writing, Spanish, and the history of science at Harvard University, where she writes for several student newspapers and magazines. In Buenos Aires, she has taken classes at the University of Buenos Aires, Torcuato di Tella University, and the National University Institute of Art. Some of her literary role models include Zadie Smith, Gabriela Mistral, Joan Didion, Alfonsina Storni, Karen Russell, and Thornton Wilder. She is a native Southern Californian.


Published on September 3rd of 2014 in BAR(2), Poetry.



[ + bar ]


張愛玲

這是真的。

有個村莊的小康之家的女孩子,生得美,有許多人來做媒,但都沒有說成。那年她不過十五六歲吧,是春天的晚上,她立在後門口,手扶著桃樹。她記得她穿的是一件月白的衫子。對門住的年輕人同她見過面,可是從來沒有打過招呼的,他走了過來,離得不遠,站定了,輕輕的說了一聲:“噢,你也在這裡嗎?”她沒有說什麼,他也沒有再說什麼,站了一會,各自走開了。

就這樣就完了。

後來這女子被親眷拐子賣到他鄉外縣去作妾,又幾次三番地被轉賣,經過無數的驚險的風波,老了的時候她還記得從前那一回事,常常說起,在那春天的晚上,在後門口的桃樹下,那年輕人。

於千萬人之中遇見你所遇見的人,於千萬年之中,時間的無涯的荒野裡,沒有早一步,也沒有晚一步,剛巧趕上了,那也沒有別的話可說,惟有輕輕的問一聲:“噢,你也在這裡嗎?”

Read More »

On Mario Bellatin

Edmundo Paz Soldán translated by Sarah Bruni

Fifteen years ago or so, I traveled to Lima in search of a shaman who would free me from the... Read More »


Natanael’s Notebook

Veronica Stigger translated by Ramon Stern and Chris Meade

Opalka entered the small room in his son Natanael’s house and walked to the window, under which was... Read More »


Profética [puebla]

Rafael Toriz Translated by Julia Ostmann

Chatting Over A Drink Conversation in the Convent

Being, appearing to be, and running a bookstore in Mexico is a high art, not... Read More »



» subscribe!

Newsletter