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This poem is taken from PN Review 38, Volume 10 Number 6, May - June 1984.

Poems (translated by Maureen Ahern) Rosario Castellanos

ROUTINE

There's no heaven for love, love, just today,
and this sad strand falling out
when you comb your hair in front of a mirror;
crossing those long tunnels
panting and gasping;
eyeless walls,
a hole that echoes
some hidden garbled voice.

There's no truce for love, love. Night
does not suddenly become breathable.
When a star breaks its chains
it zigzags madly and disappears,
but the law never loosens its talons.
You meet in the dark. A kiss mingles
the taste of tears.
...


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