Presencias / José Barroeta


I have muttered.
In the afternoons I write
and listen to my brothers talk on the terrace.

My daughter grabs the papers, folds them, unfolds them
and runs out.

The old aunt smokes my cigarette,
looks at what I write, leaves and slams the door.

My daughter pulls my arm and takes off running;
she has a book by Kant in her hands.

My father reads in the living room and doesn’t bother me.

My brothers are sick of the afternoon wind,
they come into my room, take a seat on a cousin’s bed
who lights dawn sun and begins to laugh.

In the afternoons when I write, I mutter.

Todos han muerto (1971)

{ José Barroeta, Todos han muerto: Poesía completa (1971-2006), Barcelona: Editorial Candaya, 2006 }

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