Of all the possible fruits
you nest in my hands
molded by the body weight of your sumptuous shape.
Blush, perfume and combination of flavors,
short word extended in the memory.
Sweet drop pinned at the end of a cane:
the feminine cavity of your seed
now doubles with a hack my expectations.
Your flesh slowly gives itself
in the sugary anesthesia
of a baby snake biting my tongue.
By taking you, you have left
a basket full of broken promises,
withered possibilities, fragrances now useless.

Roberto Mendoza-Ayala
03/29/2014

En las piedras verdes de Yaxchilán
mil quinientos años después
leemos el periódico de la selva.

No sabemos si exageraste tus hazañas
o si te aumentaste el grosor de los muslos.
No nos hemos puesto de acuerdo
en la cantidad de tus
rivales
que caen
como pelotas de hule
dando tumbos serpiente abajo.

El tamaño real de tu grandeza
se encuentra amurallado por signos
en la geometría esparcida
sobre colinas verdes rematadas con trofeos.

Desde lo alto del dosel
los saraguatos festejan a gritos,
nos hacen conscientes de tu impecable triunfo:
la partida que ganaste a pulso contra el olvido. 

BIRD JAGUAR (Translated from Spanish by Susan Kline)

In the green stones of Yaxchilán
1500 years later
we read the newspaper of the jungle.

We don't know if you exaggerated your deeds
or if you augmented the thickness of your thighs.
We have not agreed
to the quantity of your 
rivals
who fall
like balls of rubber
tumbling serpent down.

The real size of your greatness
is found walled by signs
in the sparse geometry
on green hills topped with trophies.

From the height of the canopy
the howler monkeys celebrate with cries,
making us aware of your impeccable triumph:
the game that you won fairly against forgetting.



Roberto Mendoza-Ayala
02/05/2014