This poem received an Honorable Mention at the Second International Literary Competition of Reencuentro, an NGO, in Chile.
THE REINCARNATION
With my hands,
rough from labouring,
the ones that transform themselves
into tools
for gardening.
I planted tomato seeds
in the fertile earth,
in the mound over your grave,
where your velvety body
lies.
Everyone asked,
why you don’t plant flowers?
In silence I remembered her
allowing fresh drops of water to fall
from the iceberg of my soul.
Priestly tomato shrubs,
with their roots and giant fingers,
will dig into your body that
yesterday was fresh and perfumed
with human nature.
The spring will come as will
the summer with its heat,
germinating your yellow flowers,
six-armed golden suns
on a green field.
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