Alexandra Botto. Monterrey, N.L. México.1964. Poet, anthologist. Director of Homo Scriptum Editions. Her poems have been published in magazines, newspapers, webs specialized in literature and included in anthologies published in Spain, Argentina, United States and México. Her poems have also been translated to Rumanian, French, and English in a variety of art magazines. She received an honorable mention in poetry from the Foundation for the Arts, Tepic, Nayarit (1992). Second place in the tales contest organized for the cultural newspaper La Rocka, Monterrey, N.L. (2005). Botto has participated in poetry festivals around the world. Poetry collections: Días de viento (2007) and Todos mis héroes (2012).
Manzanas muertas para Eva
Descubrirás esto algún día arañando dentro de ti la luz, la sed padecida por todos y los otros que no se olvidan.
Será la muerte aquélla hermana de tus citas vacías, con la puerta abierta y la ventana mirándote. Más allá quizá una pléyade, una galaxia enrojecida que llamarás Dios hasta oler tu propia sangre.
En la desgracia sólo hay un árbol en llamas, la procesión de una serpiente enterrando el perdón entre tus carnes. Ante las ruinas de la cruz verás a un ángel encender la tempestad en cada cirio y a los demonios abandonar la hora en que te parió tu madre.
Y sin embargo, pareces tan dichosa.
En medio de la gente tu silueta se propaga de ojo en ojo y ya nadie puede distinguirte del bien y el mal.
A quién vas a decírselo, … ¿a quién?
Dead apples for Eve
You’ll realize this someday scratching the light within you, the thirst that everybody feels and others we can’t forget.
Death will be that sister on your empty dates, with the door open and the window staring at you. Farther away perhaps a pleiad, a galaxy tinted red that you will call God, until you smell your own blood.
In misery there’s only one tree in flames, the procession of a serpent burying forgiveness in your flesh. Facing the ruins of the cross you’ll see an angel ignite the tempest in every candle and demons fleeing the moment your mother gave birth to you.
Nevertheless, you seem so happy.
In the crowd your silhouette spreads from eye to eye and no one can tell you apart from good or evil.
Whom will you tell… whom?