FRITTER’S HONEY ( To: my mother with love and respect ) – Alicia Minjarez Ramírez / Translated by: Alaric Gutiérrez

Poem by Alicia Minjarez Ramírez

 

FRITTER’S HONEY

To: my mother with love and respect.

She kneads in the flour
her little girl song.
Memories in the air,
tactile smells of
clove-cinnamon,
remains of dawns
over green meadows;
treasures in cotton sacks
yearnings filled up
and sterile that never grow.

She kneads in the flour
utopian blue suns.
More than tortillas
she extends
small fish rivulets;
dismiss her bare feet
bathed in frost
while she rinses
childhood voids,
digs short stories
from the cupboard
and tears refuse
to stay or go
brown sugar loaf
dissolves the sorrows,
melodic essences
fly away
like a chased kite
through endless
golden avenues.

She kneads in the flour
captivated pebbles
among ball-and-stick toys
and scarves tips.
Ethereal weaver
of dormant passions;
odors meanwhile
pave the wind,
the lightness of silence
blurs away her smile.

She kneads in the flour
long gone illusions
saved by time.
It rains in her broken sky,
chords with no sound
where poetry converges.
Soaking chimeras
my mother prepares
a sweet syrup
upon the aromatic oil
of fritters.

 

Translated by: Alaric Gutiérrez

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