Tú me quieres alba
Alfonsina Storni
Tú me quieres alba, me quieres de espumas, me quieres de nácar. Que sea azucena sobre todas, casta. De perfume tenue. corola cerrada.
Ni un rayo de luna filtrado me haya. Ni una margarita se diga mi hermana. Tú me quieres nívea, tú me quieres blanca, tú me quieres alba.
Tú que hubiste todas las copas a mano, de frutos y mieles los labios morados. Tú que en el banquete cubierto de pámpanos dejaste las carnes festejando a Baco. Tú que en los jardines negros del Engaño vestido de rojo corriste al Estrago. Tú que el esqueleto conservas intacto no sé todavía por cuáles milagros, me pretendes blanca (Dios te lo perdone), me pretendes casta (Dios te lo perdone), ¡Me pretendes alba!
Huye hacia los bosques, vete a la montaña; límpiate la boca; vive en las cabañas; toca con las manos la tierra mojada; alimenta el cuerpo con raíz amarga; bebe de las rocas; duerme sobre escarcha; renueva tejidos con salitre y agua; habla con los pájaros y lévate al alba.Y cuando las carnes te sean tornadas, y cuando hayas puesto en ellas el alma que por las alcobas se quedó enredada, entonces, buen hombre, preténdeme blanca, preténdeme nívea, preténdeme casta.
You Want Me White
Alfonsina Storni
You want me to be the dawn. You want me made of sea spray, made of mother-of-pearl. That I be a lily, chaste above all others, of tenuous perfume. A blossom closed. That not even a moonbeam might have touched me, nor a daisy call herself my sister. You want me like snow. You want me white. You want me to be the dawn.
You, who had all the cups before you—of fruit and honey, lips dyed purple. You, who in the banquet covered in grapevines, let go of your flesh, celebrating Bacchus. You, who in the dark gardens of deceit, dressed in red, ran toward destruction. You, who maintain your bones intact only by some miracle of which I know not. You ask that I be white (May God forgive you). You ask that I be chaste (May God forgive you). You ask that I be the dawn!
Flee toward the forest. Go to the mountains. Clean your mouth. Live in a hut. Touch, with your hands, the damp earth. Feed yourself with bitter roots. Drink from the rocks. Sleep on the frost. Clean your clothes with saltpeter and water. Talk with the birds and set sail at dawn. And when your flesh has returned to you, and when you have put into it the soul that, through the bedrooms, became entangled—then, good man, ask that I be white. Ask that I be like snow. Ask that I be chaste.