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This poem was written for my Juno’s Swan– a term of endearment for a girl you spent your childhood with, from Shakespeare's As You Like It. Swan was her nickname, and these are the memories that come up when I ask where my swan is. It was originally written in Spanish. I do not have the best Spanish and some uncommon dialect words. It is intended to be read in Spanish, and none of the english is changed for the sake of the translation.
Rizos castaños
mantilla cubierta
Cantábamos en la Misa cuando éramos
niñas
que esperábamos ser pájaros
Sánguches de manteca de maní y mermelada,
gallinas en su casa, el gatito bebé Louis Armstrong
frotándose mis tobillos blancas
velada en calcetines de volantes con zapatos negros rígidos de escuela
Esa niñez está lejos de mis palmas agrietadas
Se desliza entre mis dedos
como mi cabello cuando tu hermana lo trenzaba
esa casa grande está vacía
¿Dónde está mi cisne?
Solo la recuerdo cuando veo mi propio
envejecimiento
Rizos castaños cubiertos de mantilla
My Weep for Juno’s Swan
Brown Curls
mantilla covered
We would sing at Mass when we were
girls
who hoped we were birds
peanut butter and marmalade sandwiches,
chickens in the house, baby kitten Louis Armstrong
rubbing on my white ankles
veiled in frilly socks with rigid black school flats
That girlhood is far from my cracked palms
It slips through my fingers
like my hair when your sister would braid it
that big house is empty
Where is my Swan?
I only remember her when I catch my own
aging
Brown, mantilla covered curls
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