La comida / Ramón Palomares

Dinner

Don’t eat me Francisco
because I’m your death
Me, thick meat of tomatoes and oregano,
me, the salt
I’m your knife

Don’t eat me Francisco
because I’m your edge, your arrow tip,
Me, the deer
the mountain pork
the avocado and the potato
I’m your burial candle,
your incense, your coffin

Don’t eat me Francisco because I’m your holy water,
the vegetables, me
your shovel, your pick
the place where they dig your grave
Don’t eat me, son, don’t eat me,
because then you won’t be able to vomit me

And Francisco ate his night, his edge, his arrow tip
and he ate his shovel and his pick
and the coffin
and the candles they didn’t place for him.




Santiago de León de Caracas (1967)




{ Ramón Palomares, Antología poética, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 2004 }