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Words for Memorias de inmigrantes--Memories of immigrants.

by José Antonio Cedrón

That woman had blue eyes
when she entered damaging the plaster with her load.
Cardboard suitcases. Wired cages.
If only one day would allow her to color
her daughters lips, it would be as a flutter
the simple melody that changed her accent,
that scent of salt that left with the rainsv and the custom humidity of the season.
The roosters did not say until when.
The passing years discovered the
empty oval marks on the portraits
the basil cross behind the shutters
and those blue eyes the woman lost
from looking at the sky.
The sea was far away.
Her scarf hid the waves of a defeated
people in her locks


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