In the Cafe by Clementina Suarez
Every day I sit in the cafe
as if I could push time ahead.
Everything around us is misery and suffering
even the way we speak.
There are those
who hope that someone
will appear
to pay for their cup of coffee.
(My God, fifteen cents.)
Women worn out from life
with the true weariness of the flesh...
This immense solitude, this absence, when does it attack?
Where does the drama begin or end?
It would be enough just to close one's eyes
and enjoy seeing one's self
close, so close.
In fact who isn't happy that way
Like a peaceful sky
Still and deaf amid the blood's turbulence.
What a restful life. Will I ever know it?
No, it's not what I want,
I don't want to let go of my anguish.
I don't want a prison for my soul,
but prefer to swim in the shadows.
I tell myself:
I have to grow,
inevitably
children stand
before me
I am barefoot with them
looking for bread
in my small hands.
