Since Self is So Happy That the World Still Exists

Self is so happy:  She opened her eyes and she saw the garden.  Nothing had changed.  The Rapture, which was supposed to wipe out all, has no doubt been postponed.

For an inkling of what would happen if the world had entered the Apocalypse (version according to MV) check out Philippine Genre Stories, “The Departure”. (Self must confess, every time she glimpses the neighbor across the street, she can’t help feeling twinges of guilt for having used this kindly lady as the basis for a fictional character)

In the meantime, here’s self reading poetry:

Poem for Constructing a River

by Margarito Cuéllar (trans. by Steven J. Stewart, in Nimrod Spring/Summer 2009)

With the saliva spent by my enemies
to wound me
I built a river
in which I sail at night
with their fiancées or sisters.

With the stones they threw at me
I built a house
in which I live like a king.
If they keep stoning me
I’ll make a condominium, I’ll sell it and be rich
while they exercise their right
to stomp about in envy.

With the bullets they shot at me
I built a tree of gunpowder:
when lit it turns into the Milky Way.

With the words they hurled at me
I wrote several books.
When they realized
that instead of enemies
they were my best publicists
they demanded royalties.

When they finally ran out
of words, bullets, stones
they declared me poet laureate.

I keep on
writing poems on napkins,
like a pimp on the streets
in a city that’s not even mine.

Now that they’re dead
I feel like I’m missing something.

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