Déjà vu
I think I
know where I had seen you before:
in the
heroines of the Bible
who chop
off heads or turn into pillars of salt
in the
princess who embroidered gazelles from the Arabian
Nights.
You call to
mind that famous portrait of Sappho
chewing on a stylus
the mock
solemnity of the Mona Lisa
the
timeless beauty of Juliette Binoche
or Simone de Beauvoir
the crazed
expression of Joan of Arc
or Alejandra Pizarnik.
the warped
innocence of Ligeia, Tadzio, or Lolita.
You are that
fleeting reflection that slipped past me today
on the metro or in the chatroom.
One day we
will be stardust within the confines
of the same galaxy.
Once I was
a soldier given water by your image
at the gates of Jerusalem
A dog you cured
of its wounds in Kazakhstan.
In fact you
seem as vaguely familiar
as Heloise did
to Abelard
when their
heads touched as they read the same book.
As though
in some other ill-fated life he had glimpsed her
from afar
in the eyes
of some savage, insatiable cat
or in the
pallid languor of a stone in the moonlight.
And had
caressed her shadow.
Silvia Rins, "Déjà vu", Apología de las sombras. © Translation to English: Alexandra Paramour.
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