Jorge Esquinca

Prose of St. Agnes path to Heaven

She couldn't say that everything began with the vision of a sword already there's no distinguishing, pierced by flashes, orient and occident, zenith and nadir, inside and outside enraptured with yes, in full ascension, knowing nothing of holy days all of her a vertiginous yes, a syllable she goes further than we can imagine but she surely goes climbing the atmosphere as if it were scaffolding, scales of pure latin she's like an Egyptian, an air hostess, a lark martyrdom a country she only reaches in passing fire makes a bed for her and she forgets to run, go and tell she is a singular message of absorption spinning, dishevelled, adolescent, she turns herself into a flower of astonishment see how fast she flies.

Translated from the Spanish by Alyson Hallett with Mercedes Nunez

 

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