No llore niña
Que tu bailarás el flamenco algún día.

the little girl
from her cradle
saw the gypsy dancer
whirling in the empty square,
falda enraged – Vamo’ ya!
body churn, incense,
throbbing underneath her dark
glistening skin
feet arch, quake, flitter
soles floating
toes in a fan
sleeveless arms contorted
ballistic
enraged
proud floreo
the soul that inspires her dance -- el duende --
muttering along the gust:

“Devour your breaths
mute your eyes
deafen your tongue
unspeak your touch
with the dance and music ablaze
forget your game, unwrite your name
dismantle you smile and swallow your voice
stamp your feet
raise your arms
convulse your hips
rattle your fingers
judder your shoulders
freeze your lips.”

su muñeca y
su lazo que se salta
forsaken totems
urged in a corner of her room
she wanted to be a flamenco dancer
a female matador.