Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Cartography of Dreams 1. By the time you arrive I’ll possess night in my hands. It carries the sleeplessness of the rooftops in its peak, the distant humidity of the streets that lack your footsteps. I wear wings borrowed from tonight, and retain the warmth of its arms for when you come to sleep later. Come: Tonight, we dine on the moon! 2. Like winter born on one December afternoon, I felt the urge to journey all the way to silence and listen to a breath of lights. I dragged a heap of leaves towards me. They stopped before I swept them, already waiting for me. 3. It was leaving memories lying on the dark waters of sleep. It was as if your voice came from the side of my body, or the echo of your smile inside some other ear, those clear labyrinths open to voices. It was the dying perfume of rain, the distance pending caresses keep, the smiles that never crossed each other, and walking barefoot where the sun won...

Anatomy of Failure My mother never forgot the sky that illumined the square of my town. She talked about the gazebo in front train station, the aqueduct arches which brought the turbid sound of water in the mornings. The mist reached her thoughts, she listened to the young man's footsteps as he swept the square with his broom of mallows. The light coming through the window lit up her face. The bitterness of her empty hands hurts. No breath ever incited her hair. My mother is an abandoned house. My father was the one who lived inside.