Versión en castellano: El espacio para la tristeza
Our good fortune allowed us to feel a sadness that our parents didn’t have time for and a happiness that I never saw with them.
Mike Mills, Beginners
Only those who are fortunate enough
find the space for sadness.
And if you have gathered time to spend
walking through that vast space
of sadness,
then, I guess, you get
somewhere.
I don’t know.
I’m still knee deep
in the space where sadness grows wide like a lake
shallow like a pond,
and the weeds tickle your calves
and you find some other halves
of you, buried in the deep
and the water is not clear
and you fear that the bubbles in the mud
may be the truths
your halves, half buried, speak.
You’ll have to pull,
but still,
you’ll have to kneel,
pulling with
both hands, three
if you can,
and pull, your elbows mud,
and pull, weeding the lies,
and pull, until you find
those other halves
of you,
soft under the reed.
Only those who are brave enough
find the space for sadness.
And what do they know
that I ignore?
Does their God never let them down?
Do they know?
As empty of matter
as an atom,
as empty of matter
as a bomb,
the fear has grown.
Will I ever see the sight
of this lake from afar?
Is this the wind that blinds
the doors when they’re ajar?
Sun, will you help me dry my other halves
as I stretch them out on the pebble beach
(the rocks that used to be my dreams)
and wind, will you occupy
their paperless bodies when dry,
so I can say,
“hello”
and
“you are me”
and
“you’re set free”
and
“I apologize”?
