LLANO

In my dream as I fly over churning mud

I recognised Finca de San Martin on

Avila’s folds, where it was said that Paez

in between battles met his mistress on

 the very bench we did.

  I was told by the caretaker of the Finca,

     that in colonial times a Countess was

 exiled there

in her quarters with her slaves.

 

In my innocence I prattled on about my encounters,

                           and even when I told you he had become my lover

 you feigned indifference.

The next day without a glance you walked pass me .

 I turn to gaze at your retreating back and like

 Lot’s wife turned to a pillar of salt….

Time stopped, blood did not flow

And with this act you took back all you brought from the Llano.

The endless azure of its sky, the din of the cicadas at dusk,

The viper tender in your hand, the nigh cry of the jabali.

 anaconda’s long sleep in the grass, the emerald of the colibri

llanero’s hunt for the jaguar and jaguar’s stalk of him .

As I descend into that red mud, I remembered all but your name.

                                                                                                      

 

                                                

 

 

                                                                                                           Antonia Baranov