Editor: Olerti Etxea (Basque)
Encuentra la muerte mientras buscaba su ropaBelarraren ahoa Itsasoa etxe barruan
That’s what the Hispanic newspaper said
in its giant headline.
Death found her among her clothes.
Like when we’re sweeping the room
and a chair hung from the ceiling
suddenly drops, death.
Hidden beneath the bed
in the famous room that Van Gogh drew,
or in the wide and bloated fish-eye view
through the peephole of the front door,
or at school,
reciting a memorized list of rivers
of the world, unaware that it’s time for a thaw.
Or on tiptoe, trying to see something behind a screen.
Never in the aim of a revolver.
Never on the pyramidal point of a dagger,
nor in the first uncontainable teardrop of the needle.
Things are very simple sometimes
when you hunt a maroon sock’s mate.
She found death among her clothes.
Looking for poison, waiting for adrenaline,
in the mailbox or on a flyer from the laundromat,
in the duo Gallows-Last Wish.
She found death while looking for her clothes.
And she went, nude as almost always,
Translated by: Kristin Addis