Manuel Iris (Mexico, 1983). Poet, winner of the “Merida” National Poetry Award for the book Notebook of dreams (2010), and of the Rodulfo Figueroa Regional Award of Poetry for the book The disguises of fire (2014). Iris is the co-author, along with the Brazilian poet Floriano Martins, of Overnight Medley (Brazil, 2014). His work has been included in national and international anthologies of poetry, including Postal del oleage, anthology of Mexican and Colombian poets born in the 80s, published in both countries. Recently, two personal anthologies of his poetry have been published in Venezuela and El Salvador. Iris holds a PhD in Romance Languages from the University of Cincinnati.
Mordida por su edad
mi abuela le habla al anterior
que la vio por mis ojos:
¿No te dolió jamás
dejarme así, con cinco niños?
¿No nos pensabas nunca?
Me siento culpable del silencio
que mi rostro, antes de mí, guardó
pero le aclaro: amor, yo soy tu nieto,
el primer hijo de tu hijo menor,
soy el que vive lejos.
Ya decía yo, me dice, que no tenía sentido
que yo fuera una vieja
y tú siguieras igual.
Me abraza con alivio,
como si esa conversación
pero sucederá, como es costumbre,
la siguiente vez que nos veamos.
Bitten by her age
my grandmother speaks to the previous one
that saw her through my eyes:
Did it ever hurt you
to leave me like this,
with five children?
You never thought about us?
I feel guilty of the silence
that my face, before myself, kept.
but I clarify: my love, I am your grandson,
the first child of your youngest son,
I ‘m the one who lives far away.
I was going to say! she tells me,
that it didn’t make sense
that I was so old
and you were still the same.
She hugs me with relief,
as if this conversation
But it will happen, as usual,
The next time we see each other.