Poetryzine magazine presents the selected poems by the Mexican poet Ricardo Plata
To inhabit my name
It is necessary to drive a thorn
of the fire rose
in the thinnest pore of the flesh,
feed every ghost,
throw a fist of my fears
as if it were throwing bread crumbs.
It is necessary to look at the photographs
where I stay alone,
crammed into a zone of silence.
Is to recognize
that you like sex without condoms,
for that feeling
to love on the edge of death.
To inhabit my body
that cell with thin bars,
I must admit,
a body is a prison of memory.
The Television’s statics
settle in the room,
right on the corner where our words join.
I honor the wisdom of your body,
the experience you have gained from your other lovers
to untangle your hair and disentangle your daily clothes.
An angel paralyzes every time you undress,
there’s a thirty degrees sun
raising from your feet
and a moon climbing up your stomach
completing each one of your phases.
You remind me of the woman I dreamt of in my childhood
and you describe your waist which maddens every time someone loves it,
show in my stomach the madness of your pelvis
so the caress will taste like a January’s evening.
You draw a cross in my forehead,
with your fingertips you found
a religion,
You smile
you throw a prayer into the void
to the god in which we do not believe
so that I won’t miss any memory when I get home.
Of those who look at me
none will know I come from your body,
I throw a prayer
so that it will always come back to you.