And when my fire was lit, I took it
by the arms and danced as I shouted
Lléguense, mis panas,
I can finally fend off the night.
Lléguense, look
how it makes the trees tither.
But everyone wasted their time on Instagram, and forgot how to see within my eyes.
And every day for twenty-five years I dressed up
as a bonfire. Still, their eyelids were wilted.
My flames and I were a rainbow in sepia.
Then my fervor forgot to swallow the wind because only I would lend it my books.
Then my fire died of asphyxiation.
And now I only remember my dead blaze
in remembering my dead sleep. But memory is a broken wing
that soars when rain is scarce.
***
Carlos Egaña (Caracas, 1995) earned an MFA from the Creative Writing in Spanish program at NYU. He is a professor of gender studies at the UCAB. He is the author of Los Palos Grandes (dcir ediciones, 2017) and hacer daño (OT editores, 2020). He writes about art, politics, and pop culture in various Venezuelan publications.
