Owls

A Muzak fragment of Mozart’s Minuet
pumps from the gut of a smiling, snub-nosed owl
and repeats every fifteen seconds. It’s only seven,

but I jam the fat ends of my earplugs in
and watch green constellations pulse and wheel
across the ceiling.
……………………………. Just as I start to drift,
the baby’s cry returns me to the room,
mind blank with an infinity of thoughts.

I rock him underneath our nine-foot sky
while a dark form quarters the yard and scans for voles
that run along the redwood fence.
……………………………………………………. Come morning,
we’ll stroll through the live oak’s perforated shade
and find two woven clots of fur and bone.

Alfonsina Storni’s Funeral Notices

Funeral Notices

There beside the crosses, small and black
like anchors cast into that final bay,
the names of those who died today
lie there, horizontal,
the way the dead themselves will.
Nearby, on an indifferent piece of paper,
my own name, now enormous, does a caper.

Alfonsina Storni: Avisos fúnebres

Al lado de pequeños cruces negras
—Anclas echadas en finales puertos—
Yacen los nombres de los muertos
Del día, horizontales
Como muertos reales.
Enorme ahora, sobre el papel frío,
Junto a las cruces bailotea el mío.