bring me to Larissa, no other garden town can be more merciful
bring me to Santa Catalina
bring me to Sidon
from Argentina
on an old train of the age of shy steel, 19th century fin
that trembled with human hopes
to a city carved in salt
the roads blocked by the harvested corn and red peppers collecting a bit of rain bruising the skin
I have been poisoned by that most poisonous of lies, that there is a place in the past to be longed
for and mourned
and place in the future that is a symphony to be played in the streets—
I do not have to work to earn the embrace of she who I mourn
She doesn't need any more security, she will come,
I of the lost race of warriors
welcome her, the long-lost,
the wine from her sweat crushes absences,
proves resurrection, sweat is harsher than vinegar—
there is no point to seeking the coordinates
for the rites of non-return
bring me to Tyre
for no other garden can be more merciful
while my attention has been
wakeful and astonishing, for death I need not hop
I do not have to want it,
I am let lone, let go free to despair
in disrepair, in the slow dark movement where all is lost
the dis-repairing wind, like a visitor whom I loved and awaited
for years, will caress my cheek
and end my tirelessness, my reck ways
bring me to Tyre.
no other garden
Arturo Desimone
Arturo Desimone’s poems, articles and short fiction pieces have previously appeared in Counterpunch, New Orleans Review and The Missing Slate. He was recently hired as a blogger on Latin American poetic happenings for The Drunken Boat magazine. Arturo was born and raised on the island of Aruba (in the Dutch Caribbean) and is currently based between Buenos Aires and the Netherlands while he works on a long fiction project.
