1
At 1 p.m.
Thieves to the right ! Subversives to the left !
We – subversives, comfortably line up
on the sidewalk along the high cement facade
washed by the falling rain.
The guard at the prison’s gate, after
such a friendly welcome,
gesticulates to emphasize the necessity
of putting order in that exemplary place
while letting the line on the right side in,
which seems to have come in time.
At 3 p.m.
We gently are invited to enter the building
and are sent to the inspection rooms.
Woman warden, with delicate fingers, touch us
everywhere to check if we brought dangerous items.
That’s a very important thing to do.
My three year old granddaughter
could have forgotten to leave at home the razor
blades and little knives she usually plays with
and bring them beneath her underwear
or maybe hidden in her body.
At 4 p.m.
Sure the line on the right side is in time
They are sent directly to visit the prisoners.
Our line is sent to the prison’s chapel, to wait,
and enjoy the place for hours.
When we tell the guard who passes by
we are thirsty he, with a big smile
and very friendly answers:
Go and ask God for water !
At 6 p.m.
Two guards come and ask us to follow them.
While walking through open gates
we smell the fresh meat aroma– a cook is carrying
in a cart, to prepare the prisoners’ dinner.
I look around to see if a bathroom is available.
When I ask the guards about that . . .they say that we just
arrived at the visiting room. He let us go in first
and shuts the door from outside, with a pad-lock.
2
estamos en el locutorio al fin ! our
daughters’ bright smiles welcome us
they look so nice ! prison provides
political prisoners the best brand
make-up we see them through
the glass windows at the long narrow
place with no air we are so happy
who needs breathing now ?
no kisses no hugs we mothers can
understand that we are subversives
no matter common prisoners can
embrace and have mate con facturas
with their guests we are allowed to
talk for one long hour through
a nice microphone isn’t that enough ?
mothers who come from around
the country do not need more time
–guards are so right they forbid us
to go outside it is a waste of time !
we tell our daughters we are fine
and smile our houses ? clean
with no shadows there is no need to
ask them how they are treated we can
see it with our eyes: a model place !
no need to ask what happened at
the concentration camp it is all
an invention of our creative minds
3
Last day of Fall.
I go through the house
opening windows wide,
letting the wind come in
to change the air
to clean up the shadows.
Withered leaves land
over my son’s desk
where he spends hours,
his mind absent,
his books one over the other
forgotten, with dust.
Flying sheets of drawings –
our girl is sending her mother,
swirl around the room;
on the closet’s handle hangs the bag
– her mother made in prison for her,
with the nightgown on it.
All around the house
the wind is moving memories
I say to the wind:
leave my memories with me.
.
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