LITURGY OF THE HOURS ( See original )

          To my Grandmother Mariela

Captives in the market hustle
Faces amid faces dust and birds
Amid aromas of saffron and cinnamon
The maize kneaded in your hands

Devoured by the morning sun
We would inhale the orange blossom
The cool of the yellowing walls
Where the jasmine leaves entangled

And then at Mass on your knees and rapt
You would repeat with fervour

"May your light illumine our eyes
And your love pour into our soul
Let me know what I need to realize
Let me know what I need to suffer"

I watch uneasy the melted candles
The defenceless eyes of the saints
The rigid weight of the priest
The hosts consumed in pain

Hours when time declared itself eternal
And tastes imprinted irrepeatably
Echoes of prayers that were poems
And poems prayers

Above the church tower suspended
The bell keeps zealous watch on your memory
Now I want only a glimpse of your face
And I'll never hear your voice again

O grandmother gone
To see you now a little girl
A little girl to see you clinging to your mother
Beneath you the stones of the river

The leaves still glisten
To the sky’s chiaroscuro

In the shadow of the fig tree
Your memory a sun dazzling me

from Description of the Village , book ‘The Disobedient Gaze
Devenir Editorial, Madrid 2013
Translated by Jonathan Boulting

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