Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Listen Without Prejudice It's December and it snows with the voice of George Michael. The apartment is a giant bed where the hard parts of love are covered. The mattress in my bedroom is gutted. There are nights overflowing in the ashtrays. He clasps his hands and a bird appears on the wall. Look at this elephant walk , she laughs, and repeats. He rolls another cigarette and changes channels. God is spoken. Death. Beneath the sheets there are attentive knees. He reads stories with his blood on fire. She falls asleep just before she cries. It's the voice of George Michael snowing. Clothes hang in the soul of the two. They look at each other as if they've just returned from a party. Time does not understand these things. For him they're all animals. They all have lessons to learn. On a Friday, there’s a crack in the air. The back door is wide open. George Michael lays silent in a drawer. That's how i

I have eyes to see something of who I am tonight, and ears to listen too. I'm in my room with my dreams. Behind every shadow there are traces of me, on the chair, at my feet, in bed, watching. They take my name, and come out of the mirrors. It's been a while since we met up with each other. I'll give you my body. I’ll gather myself, open my eyes and sprinkle shadows with my darkness tonight. My heart on the bed sheet beating.

I am my body and my body is sad and tired. I'm going to sleep for a week, a month, a year, so be silent. That when I open my eyes children are grown and the universe smiles. I want to stop stepping on the bare feet of the cold. Let me have all the heat, the sheets, the blankets, papers and memories. Close all the doors so that my loneliness does not leave. I want to sleep for a month, a year, just sleep. And if I sleep talk, do not pay attention. I want you to pretend that I am buried until the day of the Resurrection. I want to sleep until next year, nothing more.