by Raquel Verdesoto
We must hate that kind of peace
where men sowed winter
the shimmering of a four-leaf clover
that only unfolds inside fenced lands.
If clouds gallop by
let them give us water as they come near
if there is bread, in pieces
if a book adorns our hands
let reading voices roar.
translated by Juan Felipe Herrera
From:
Resistencia: Poems of Protest and Revolution
Copyright ©:
2020, Tin House, Portland, Oregon
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