The Last Night of April
Ink on paper
22cm x 16cm
Commissioned by La Peste Magazine Mexico
Poetry by Beatriz Estrada
The last night of April went to the library to kill time.
Even if it is not my favorite section,
the title “How to live without you and not die”
caught my eye between the best sellers.
I hid behind the law dictionaries
to see if Dr. Burgoa covered me,
like the trees to those sad
and lonely benches in the Alameda Central.
Prayer to forget the loved one:
“I love and respect myself, and will have the strength
not to beg, because I deserve better.
-Repeat three times before every encounter attempt-“, I read.
Dr. Shulz (a bald Englishman, with men menopause,
probably divorced and the book’s author) says
that we should take a notebook to discover
that internal humus.
you hurt me just as my asthma, I write.
Then I think and write again:
you hurt me just as my asthma hurts my mother.
I think of a vowel, an o.
It is not in tundra but it is in scroll.
My heart. As ambiguous as lichen.
There is no support for this vertigo
nor map fot your sterile body.
But Dr. Schulz is wrong,
maybe some of us were born without
that humus he talks about.
I will buy some cigarettes,
cross the avenue.
and in this April’s night
the traffic light shines more than the moon.