If Today Were Tomorrow
THE RIVER
Kneeling
on a yagual,
bent over a stone,
my mother washes
and washes
and washes.
My little sister
sleeps in a basket
covered in willow leaves.
Me? I am sitting
on piled straw,
watching how the water leaves
and how the river stays.
ON THE FLOOR
The moon
finds holes
in abode houses
then slips in
to sit on the floor.
AT THE SPRING
In still water,
a rose-winged dragonfly
sailing on a dry leaf.
A PLANK
I wish I were
simple as a tree.
Or even better,
a plank.
WHAT IS, IS
Let's cut the bullshit:
Ghosts?
They exist!
A town without ghosts
is not a real town.
But
the ghosts
have got to be real.
NIGHT
Dark night
darker than dark
and smelling of rain.
On nights like this
no one knows
where earth ends
and the sky begins.
TIRED
With the full weight
of a chopped-up tree,
the load of firewood
drips sap
down my back.
My head strap turns to fire.
I stop for a bit
and my shadow stretches out long
to lie on the ground,
maybe more tired than I am.
PRAYER
In church
the only prayer you hear
comes from the trees
they turned into pews.
STONES
It's not that stones are mute:
they just keep quiet.
THE MOON ON THE WATER
She wasn't beautiful
but she hit me
like the moon on the water.
FLIGHT
I am a bird:
flight lives
inside me.
BIRTH
Poets are born old:
as the years pass
we make ourselves into children.
WALKING BACKWARDS
Every now and then,
I turn and start walking backwards:
it's my way of remembering.
If I only ever walked forward,
then I could tell you
what forgetting is.
IN THE DARK
I learned to sing through pain
like a bird in the dark.
_______________________
Humberto Ak'abal
If Today Were Tomorrow
Milkweed, 2024
