The palm at the end of the mind, beyond the last thought, rises in the bronze distance. A gold feathered bird sings in the palm, without human meaning, without human feeling, a foreign song. You know then that it is not the reason that makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

Wednesday, April 29, 2020

Message To Blanca

                   for Blanca Subercaseaux

   I don't know if I can come.
let's see if I can reach you, sister.

   I'll arrive, if I do, on a mild wind,
so as not to freeze your plains,
or at the edges of your dream,
with love, and without a word.

   Stand up tall, in case I find it
hard to meet halfway,
and bring me a little earth
to remember my Inn by.

   Don't worry if I don't have a shape,
or if I look different.
And don't cry if I don't answer,
for my sin was words.
But give me yours, your word
that was like a bird alighting.


--Gabriela Mistral
translated by Ursula K. Le Guin

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