Poema: “Hazme, vida, quizás tu pregonera”

Hazme, vida, quizás tu pregonera

Hazme, vida, quizás tu pregonera
de elogios, como elogian la mañana
el olor a café y la luz temprana;
o más íntima aún, tu camarera,
para asearte, y servirte la primera
taza del dia, y abrirte la ventana
para que veas la tierra, tan lozana
y fresca como tú. Qué gusto fuera

agradecerte así que me trajiste
al mundo a conocerte; me brindaste
sonidos y sabores; me vestiste

de carne que a tantos les negaste;
y por un tiempo—o, generosa fuiste!—
qué incomparable amante me prestaste.

The Widow Offers Herself to Life

Make me your herald, Life: send me ahead
to hail you, as the earliest light is doing
for each day, and the scent of coffee brewing.
Or—cozier still—make me your maid instead,
to serve your coffee, wash you, fresh from bed,
dress you, and part the curtains for your viewing
of the earth, as young and constantly renewing
itself as you. What joy! Let it be said—

my gratitude!—to you, who opened wide
the world to me; who saw fit to present me
with sound and taste; you by whom I was dressed

in flesh, which to so many is denied;
and for a time—oh, generous!—made blessed
with the one and only lover that you lent me.

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