He sits facing the window.

He sits facing the window.
A poem about a captive howler monkey suffering life in a city apartment.

He sits facing the window.
He looks out on a sky that is very small.
He sees trees that he cannot climb.And things he does not understand.
He sees a foreign land.
Filled with people not like him.

He sits facing the window.
He sees rain but does not comprehend.
He sees it but does not feel it wet against his face.
The wind blows but only scatters paper in the street.
Not a refreshing gust against which to brace.
He sees a foreign land.
Filled with people not like him.

He sits facing the window.
He looks out on a sky that is very small.
He sees trees that he cannot climb.
He sees rain but does not comprehend.
He sees it but does not feel it wet against his face.
He sees a foreign land.
Filled with people not like him

Once he had a family.
People just like him.
He remembers red tails in the sunshine.
His mothers loving face,He remembers her falling.
And the white hand tearing him away.
Now there is nothing.
Only people not like him.


Sábado, 05 de mayo 2012
Sentada  frente a la ventana.

Se sienta frente a la ventana.
Un poema acerca de un mono aullador en cautiverio sufriendo la vida en un apartamento en la ciudad.

Se sienta frente a la ventana.
Él mira hacia un cielo que es muy pequeño.
Él ve los árboles en los que no puede subirse, cosas que no entiende.
Él ve a una tierra extranjera.
Lleno de gente, no como él.

Se sienta frente a la ventana.
Él ve la lluvia, pero no comprende.
Él lo ve pero no siente que se moje su cara.
El viento sopla de papel, pero sólo se dispersa en la calle.
No es una ráfaga refrescante contra la cual apoyarse.
Él ve a una tierra extranjera.
Lleno de gente, no como él.

Una vez que tuvo una familia.
La gente era como él.
Se acuerda de las colas de color rojo en la luz del sol.
Sus madres, amaba la cara, le recuerda a su caída.
Y la mano blanca que le desgarra.
Ahora no hay nada.
Sólo la gente que no le gusta.