citizen of Santiago de Chile
Obscure offramps
and thoroughfares
of your body—
a ladder here, an alleyway
there. An intersection.
Ever-green gaze of
a sun-ripened street—how else
to describe you
or do I leave that
to the acrobats and trick-cyclists
of Bellavista? An unseasonal deluge
above the Cathedral of the Duration
of the Longest Embrace—
bottlenecks and storm water
drains, carabineros spilling
out across the square, a tank
rumbling past the sombrereria.
Certain dance steps
best left forgotten
on the unpolished floor of
Amnesia Discotheque. And then there was
the apartment block
on the day of your birth—a brass band
went by, on stilts—or on any other quiet
afternoon. The city has
as many compartments
as a policeman’s jacket.
Nothing is taken, nothing
left behind. Intermittent
foot traffic of as many years
as you can fit into
that same afternoon. In this
the church of the inconsolable,
with its street dogs and riot police
the Chilean Christ of
door handles and water-cannons.
Those whom History
will hold
to account. And those others
History, in her arms,
will hold them.
Gregory O'Brien
Santiago 2013