Scott Hightower -USA-


My Father

for Doris Schnabel

was a cowboy. My father was a sugar man. My father was a teamster.

My father was a Siberian tiger; an angel; a lamb, a yellow dog, a horse’s ass.

My father had a triple bi-pass. My father was a rat but he bought me my first hat.

My father believed in decency and fair play. My father drove the getaway. My father was a blue jay.

My father drove the boys away. My father drove a Thunderbird, a Skylark, a Firebird, an old pickup truck

with a rusty tool box, a Skybird, a Sunray. My father drove hard bargains ever day; he was a force. My father

was mercurial. He was passive, a little moody: rock… paper….scissors. He loved me. He loved me not. He stomps and hurls lightning bolts. Has slipped away. Passed away. My father was passé. My father

was a Texas Ranger. Taught me to pray. Because of him, I hoard things in an old shoe box. Because of him, I use

botox. Because of him, I look to clocks. Because of my father, I know how to oil the gate; don’t own a map.

Because of my father, I have no use for similes. Because of my father, I hunger for my own catalog of metaphors.

Mi padre

para Doris Schnabel

era un vaquero. Mi padre era el patróne de la azucarera. Mi padre era un camionero.

Mi padre era un tigre siberiano; un ángel; un cordero, un “perro amarillo,” de un caballo el trasero.

Mi padre tenía tres baipases. Mi padre era un cicatero pero me compró mi primer sombrero.

Mi padre creía en la decencia y en el juego limpio. Mi padre conducía el coche de la huida. Mi padre era un arrendajo azul.

Mi padre se llevó a los muchachos. Mi padre conducía un “Thunderbird,” un “Skylark,” un “Firebird,” una vieja camioneta

con una oxidada caja de herramientas, un “Skybird,” un “Sunray.” Mi padre conducía cada día tratos duros; era una fuerza. Mi padre

era mercurial. Era pasivo, algo impredecible: piedra… papel… tijeras. Me quería. No me quería.

Aporrea el suelo y lanza rayos. Ha desfilado. Ha pasado al otro lado. Mi padre es passé. Mi padre

era un Ranger de Tejas. Me enseñó a rezar. Por él amontono mis tesoros en una vieja caja de zapatos. Por él uso

botox. Por él miro los relojes. Por mi padre sé engrasar la verja; carezco de mapa.

Por mi padre, no valgo para los símiles; por él, ansío mi propio catálogo de metáforas.

Translated by Natalia Carbajosa