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Día de matanza

By request, this post is a translation of a poem that appeared a few months ago.  Susana, so sorry it has taken me so long!  Also thanks to Sandra, who helped proofread my wilting Spanish.

 

Junto ramas secas
bajo un cielo
de un gris color plomo.
Buitres circulan
sobre nuestras cabezas
sobre el campo
al otro lado de la loma
en donde una vaca
de juventud desvanecida
se ejecuta.
La carne que forma
los ingresos para comprar
la próxima generación.
Junto ramas secas
marchitas  y quebradizas,
para que las podemos quemar;
horas de trabajo
ardiendo en instantes
Limpiar la tierra
para que podemos
comenzar
De nuevo.

 

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Category: Nostalgia, Philosophy, PoetryTag: cows, nature, rural life

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