by Jaime Manrique

by Jaime Manrique
     Against a topaz sky
     and huge windows starry
     with delirious heartsease
     and sensual red cayenne；
     the sweet twilight breeze
     fragrant with almond and Indian orange；
     on the Moorish tiles，
     wearing their spike-heeled shoes，
     lowcut dresses and wide swirling skirts；
     their long obsidian hairdos
     in the style of the time；
     perfumed， olive-skinned， smiling，
     my aunts danced the mambo
     and sang： "Doctor， tomorrow，
     you can't pull my tooth
     even if I die of the pain."
     those evenings of my childhood
     when my aunts were young and belonged to me，
     and I danced hiding in their skirts，
     our lives were a happy mambo——
     I remember.