2 Poems

Omen

You foresee the birds,
the color
of their freshly-laid breasts.
They whisper in your ear:
here and there
no longer exist.
You take care now
so no handful of earth
ever starves in your hands.

Augurio

Presientes a los pájaros,
el color recién puesto
en sus vientres.
Te susurran que aquí y allá
se deja de existir
y ahora cuidas
que ningún puñado de tierra
se desnutra en tus manos.

Nowhere To Go

When you run away from something
there’s nowhere to go.

The world is a subtle trait
where nothing new nor old awaits you,
only what surfaces from the deep,
a cleansing rhythm.

We’ve scattered crumbs
for the birds from the last coming.
They recognize ancient colors
we can no longer see.

Like you, each of them is fleeing something.

Their shadows appear
in some corner of the desert,
creased and alive
on the jewels of sand.

No Hay Lugar Adonde Ir

Cuando huyes de algo
no hay lugar adonde ir.

El mundo es un rasgo sutil
y no te espera algo viejo ni nuevo,
sino aquello que sale del fondo,
un ritmo que depura.

Hemos esparcido migajas
para las aves del último retorno.
Ellas saben de colores antiguos
que ya no somos capaces de ver.

Como tú, cada una huye de algo.

En algunos rincones del desierto
asoman sus sombras,
y las pliegan, vivas
sobre joyas de arena.

Born in Buenos Aires, Luciana Jazmín Coronado has published highly acclaimed books of poetry including La insolación/The Sunstroke (2014) and Catacumbas/ Catacombs (2016), winner of the Premio Hispanoamericano de Poesía de San Salvador/San Salvador Prize for Hispano-American, and Los hijos Imperfectos/ Imperfect Children (2023).

Based in the Pacific Northwest, Allison A. deFreese leads translation workshops for the Oregon Society of Translators and Interpreters. “Omen” and “Nowhere to Go” are the first translations to be published from Luciana Jazmín Coronado’s latest book Imperfect Children (2023). deFreese’s translations of work from Coronado’s previous books appear in Columbia Journal, Crazyhorse/swamp pink, and Gulf Coast.