A poem
By hola | Published | No Comments
It’s inauguration day. To mark the occasion and reflect on the uncharted territory into which the country is now headed, we bring words from Brooklyn-born poet Frank Varela.
Metamorphosis
In the house he lived in, objets d’art gathered dust-
Southwestern lacquer boxes, black, inlaid with turquoise,
a pair of Tiffany lamps sumptuous with trumpet day lilies,
offset with amethysts and moonstones,
teardrop bulbs pouring amber light
on the glittering mosaic of Actaeon’s transformation
from human to stag, hunter to prey.
Grief, too, was present: Ana Frank,
a whisper in prison rags, whose luminous eyes
examined portraits of the family dead.
There were also other pictures:
Uncle Adolf, Old Joe Stalin, Chairman Mao-
and pictures of the boy found hung in his closet.
One at three. Another at ten. Then no more.
His final words: “I once lived in a very beautiful house”.
From the book: Diaspora, 2016, published by Arte Público Press
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