The Road to Catasauqua

Leaving the unremarkable restaurant, I face the leaden Pennsylvania sky.

It fills me with a pretty sadness.

One that I don’t want to let go of.

A sadness that I want to hold close to my chest like a dying child.

That I want to kiss on the forehead.

That I want to bathe in my tears until they overflow and drip from my white fingers.

But all that was a dream.

I look down; the child is there no longer.

It’s been dead and buried for months.

I look at the steel drops that fall to my hands, like mother’s milk, from the sooty storm clouds.

I watch them as they wipe away the last traces of the crust of white salt.

On the road from Bethlehem to Catasauqua, Pennsylvania, USA
14 June 2011 (translated from the Spanish)







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