and when they are yours
and no one else's, like an envelope
left on the table, blank
until you pick it up and see your name
they will have been laid out for you to find.


A Page in Your Name

Your name can be bitten like an apple.
It smells like Manila mango and mandarin orange.
It leaves my tongue purple like chagalapolin
and the escobilla.
I crush it and breathe mint.
As I separate it a pomegranate explodes.
It grows to the height of a sugarcane flower, it's the vine
that climbs the fence or reaches to the edge of the patio,
persecutor of coral snakes, watermelons, and verdolagas.
If I shake it, I hear the water that fills it.
If I give it to the mad man of the house, he will return to the top
of the hill and make it a flute.
To free me from darkness I keep it in a jar.
With the light it makes it illuminates this page.


-- Francisco Hernandez
Translated by Marlon L. Fick