Three Years Old Watching the Open Sky
Itzela Sosa
To my mother Magdalena and my grandmother Lorenza
In mangoes there’s always springtime
Is always the sweet liquid light from those months
when one swings
always for a first time
and in your arms
the extension of ixtle changes
into a pair of wings that gallop and gallop
Yellow is the smell of that house
from never-ending guava three on the path
where the canticle of roosters
on their red march flowered in appointed time
rose through the balconies
until it reached the heart
the breath and the curtains
In that house the corn
grew like a skin that covered our emptiness
the cold from hunger that encircled us
in deep tracks in the streets
there were the corn kernels who gave us a name
kneading our thirst
and the words laid out on the table
In that house
were women’s hands
those that with their alchemy
made the wind and vapors dance
those that wove bread
oaths
marks in the eyes
all the miracles
In that deep house of yellow aromas
the light entered slowly by the edges
for saying goodbye
for illuminating shadows in the mirrors
the furies of the gods
the white sap of their daughters
and the sacred heart of dying day
That house
rattle of first-born sounds
Mixteco womb that nourished
the walk of those pilgrims
the night always open in their footsteps
the moist sierra that trembled in their pupils
like the night that watched them depart
taking leave of the village
leaving their infancy and their tenderness on the path
It’s on the mountain ridges
where the owl tells the fortune of men
who return from the silence of the heights
as dust
It’s in the chant where life carries on
opens the door to say
Now is always!
doves are still in the body
pilgrims who seek
who wander
the incantation is always musical
is a requiem of germinating roots
It’s the chant who carry us
to the clay
to the seed
to the always safely warm dream of Tonantzin
In that house musical note
IS
this smell
everlasting and yellow
a whirlwind that grows
watches us
and irretrievably shakes us
and inhabits us
IS
that aroma profound
unending
childlike
and yellow
To my mother Magdalena and my grandmother Lorenza
In mangoes there’s always springtime
Is always the sweet liquid light from those months
when one swings
always for a first time
and in your arms
the extension of ixtle changes
into a pair of wings that gallop and gallop
Yellow is the smell of that house
from never-ending guava three on the path
where the canticle of roosters
on their red march flowered in appointed time
rose through the balconies
until it reached the heart
the breath and the curtains
In that house the corn
grew like a skin that covered our emptiness
the cold from hunger that encircled us
in deep tracks in the streets
there were the corn kernels who gave us a name
kneading our thirst
and the words laid out on the table
In that house
were women’s hands
those that with their alchemy
made the wind and vapors dance
those that wove bread
oaths
marks in the eyes
all the miracles
In that deep house of yellow aromas
the light entered slowly by the edges
for saying goodbye
for illuminating shadows in the mirrors
the furies of the gods
the white sap of their daughters
and the sacred heart of dying day
That house
rattle of first-born sounds
Mixteco womb that nourished
the walk of those pilgrims
the night always open in their footsteps
the moist sierra that trembled in their pupils
like the night that watched them depart
taking leave of the village
leaving their infancy and their tenderness on the path
It’s on the mountain ridges
where the owl tells the fortune of men
who return from the silence of the heights
as dust
It’s in the chant where life carries on
opens the door to say
Now is always!
doves are still in the body
pilgrims who seek
who wander
the incantation is always musical
is a requiem of germinating roots
It’s the chant who carry us
to the clay
to the seed
to the always safely warm dream of Tonantzin
In that house musical note
IS
this smell
everlasting and yellow
a whirlwind that grows
watches us
and irretrievably shakes us
and inhabits us
IS
that aroma profound
unending
childlike
and yellow
Working notes
This poem belongs to my first poetry book, which is rooted in my early memories in my grandmother’s house. It is dedicated to her and to my mom because “being in the world” as a woman--to me--has much relation with those memories, and with the way women in my family and all my life have shared with me their words, whispers, and silences. Like sociologists and feminists, I work to make the world a better place, to live being a woman. As a poet, I try to give words to all of those things that nourish and inspire me to keep on fighting and dreaming of a better world for all human beings.
Published originally in Memorias de Intemperie (2010), this poem was translated into English by Sylvia Manning. For a PDF of the original Spanish-language version, click here.
Published originally in Memorias de Intemperie (2010), this poem was translated into English by Sylvia Manning. For a PDF of the original Spanish-language version, click here.
About the author
Itzela Sosa was born in Cuernavaca, Mexico. She is a feminist social researcher, writer, and poet. She has published two poetry books, Estancias (2010) and Memorias de Intemperie (2010).
For an updated list of works published in TRIVIA, please see this author's contributor page.