Los dientes de mi madre
Estuviste
guardada sin esfuerzo y apática
durante
dos días enteros entre las garras desprolijas de la tierra antes
de que los
encontrara en un pequeño tupper redondo
en un
estante debajo de la pileta de la cocina. Esos blancos, bajos
parapetos
contra los que nacían tus palabras.
Vi que la
ferocidad del cuerpo para morir es tan real
como su
ferocidad para vivir. Recuerdo cómo
la firme
línea de tus labios rechazaba cada
esfuerzo
que hacíamos por alimentarte con pequeñas porciones
de comida
y pastillas trituradas envueltas en miel.
Supe que
el enterrador rellenó tu garganta
con gasa,
selló tu boca
en forma
armónica y una vez cerrada, ató tu mandíbula
con
alambre y comencé a soñar
que te
habían secuestrado, taponando tu boca
con
cualquier cosa que hubiera a mano –bufanda, medias,
ropa
interior, trapo– porque parecía como si el mundo
te
estuviese chantajeando, como si una nota tipeada
pudiera
caer de la boca galvanizada y burlona
del buzón;
y cualquiera fuese el precio,
yo lo
pagaría. Habíamos despejado la parafernalia
de tu
desaparición: la comida para bebé y la morfina
y las agujas.
La cama. La tapa del inodoro. Los vendajes
y píldoras
y jugos fortificados, y el oxígeno
con sus
madejas de tubos. Y como necesitaba
sostenerlos
con firmeza, como sostuve tu cuerpo
con
firmeza –en mi mente, en la tierra, con tus pies
hacia las
colinas y tu cabeza hacia la bahía y su trivial charla
de sal–
subí hacia el lago con tus dientes,
con su
paladar de plástico, en mi bolsillo.
Tu debes
recordar cómo es: cuánto más alto
subes, más
profundo el mundo habita
lo
esencial hasta que no queda nada
sino
viento y resplandor, de la mano, atravesando
el brezo y
el mirto;
y, cerca
de la tierra, las verdes bocas
del rocío
de sol, que nunca están cerca en verdad, formando
su armonía
con la luz y la lluvia y los cuerpos
relucientes
de los insectos. Y los tiré allí: tiré
tus
dientes en las garras sedosas del agua,
que
atesora todo lo que le es ofrecido –incluso el tanino
y la
sombra, incluso los oscuros excrementos de las ovejas
como
botones redondos, incluso los huesos sueltos
en el
brezo. Digo que la boca
es el
reino más peligroso de todos. Digo que el paraíso
está allí,
detrás de las puertas de los dientes porque
es ahí
donde la ágil vara de la lengua
dice sus
deseos. Y digo que la vida no significa nada
si no
podemos bajar por propia voluntad y consumirnos
por las
terribles necesidades en otras bocas.
Fueron
guerreros un día, que arrancaron
los
dientes de cada adversario derrotado solo
para
asegurarse de que robada su boca
y sus
palabras no formadas cada hombre caminaría
desarmado
hacia la otra vida. Sólo piensa
qué revela
esta creencia sobre el propósito de las palabras
en esta
vida. Pero yo digo aun en esta vida, a veces,
no hay
lenguaje. Solo gesto. Los tiré
tan lejos
como pude. Digo que los vivos pueden ser heridos
como el
agua. Con un tímido sonido final se escurrieron
entre la
piel del río. Y los besé, por supuesto,
antes de
tirarlos. Por supuesto. Por supuesto que los sostuve
con
cuidado, con las dos manos, y los puse en mis labios.
Jude
Nutter, nacida en North Yorkshire, Inglaterra, residente en los Estados Unidos
desde 1980
Publicado
en Nimrod International Journal of Prose y en Poetry Fall,
2010
versión © Silvia
Camerotto
imagen
Satchi Art, Ethan Newman, Mom's Teeth
My Mother’s Teeth
You had
been held without effort and with indifference
for two full days in the soil’s untidy grip before
for two full days in the soil’s untidy grip before
I found
them in the small round Tupperware
on the shelf above your sink. Those pale, low
battlements against which your words were born.
on the shelf above your sink. Those pale, low
battlements against which your words were born.
I say the
body’s ferocity to die is as real
as its ferocity to live. I remember the way
the firm seam of your lips refused every
as its ferocity to live. I remember the way
the firm seam of your lips refused every
effort we
made to feed you tiny portions of food
and crushed tablets folded with honey.
I knew the undertaker had packed your throat
and crushed tablets folded with honey.
I knew the undertaker had packed your throat
with
gauze, caulked your mouth
into a pleasing shape and then wired your jaw
finally closed and I began dreaming
into a pleasing shape and then wired your jaw
finally closed and I began dreaming
you’d been
kidnapped, your mouth stuffed
with whatever was close at hand—scarf, sock,
underwear, duster—because it felt as if the world
with whatever was close at hand—scarf, sock,
underwear, duster—because it felt as if the world
were
holding you ransom, as if a typed note
might drop through the galvanized sneer
of the letter box; that whatever the price,
might drop through the galvanized sneer
of the letter box; that whatever the price,
I would
pay it. We had cleared the paraphernalia
of your dying away: the baby food and morphine
and needles. The bed. The commode. The dressings
of your dying away: the baby food and morphine
and needles. The bed. The commode. The dressings
and
tablets and fortified juices, and the oxygen
with its skeins of tubing. And because I needed
to hold them fast, in the way I held your body
with its skeins of tubing. And because I needed
to hold them fast, in the way I held your body
fast—in
mind, in the earth, with your feet
to the hills and your head to the bay and its small talk
of salt—I climbed to the lake with your teeth,
to the hills and your head to the bay and its small talk
of salt—I climbed to the lake with your teeth,
in their
plastic temple, in my pocket.
You must remember how it is: the higher
you climb, the deeper the world inhabits
You must remember how it is: the higher
you climb, the deeper the world inhabits
its
essentials until there is nothing
but wind and brightness, hand in hand, heaving
through the ling and bog cotton;
but wind and brightness, hand in hand, heaving
through the ling and bog cotton;
and, close
to the soil, the solid-green mouths
of the sundew, which never truly close, building
their sweetness out of light and rain and the rendered
of the sundew, which never truly close, building
their sweetness out of light and rain and the rendered
bodies of
insects. And I threw them in: I threw
your teeth into the silken grip of the water,
which treasures everything it is offered—even tannin
your teeth into the silken grip of the water,
which treasures everything it is offered—even tannin
and
shadow, even the dark droppings of sheep
like round buttons, even bones unbuckled
in the heather. I say the mouth
like round buttons, even bones unbuckled
in the heather. I say the mouth
is the
most dangerous kingdom of all. I say paradise
is there behind the gates of the teeth because
it is there that the tongue’s nimble wand
is there behind the gates of the teeth because
it is there that the tongue’s nimble wand
names its
hungers. And I say life means nothing
if we can’t be brought willingly down and consumed
by the terrible needs in another’s mouth.
if we can’t be brought willingly down and consumed
by the terrible needs in another’s mouth.
There were
warriors once who pried
the teeth from every defeated adversary simply
to ensure that with his mouth plundered
the teeth from every defeated adversary simply
to ensure that with his mouth plundered
and his
words unformed each man would walk
unarmed into the next life. Just think
what such a belief reveals about the purpose of words
unarmed into the next life. Just think
what such a belief reveals about the purpose of words
in this
life. But I say even in this life, sometimes,
there is no language. Only gesture. I threw them out
as far as I could. I say the living can be wounded
there is no language. Only gesture. I threw them out
as far as I could. I say the living can be wounded
like
water. With a final shy sound they slipped through
the skin of the lake. And I kissed them, of course,
the skin of the lake. And I kissed them, of course,
before I
threw them. Of course. Of course I held them,
gently, and with both hands, and I put them to my lips.
