Still Life: Hopewell, New JerseyA poem published in The Quarterly, Spring 1993
Edward Hopper could have painted
this closed diner with empty
chairs and tables and behind
its counter, the things that make
a diner work: soft drink
fountain, blenders, silver
nozzles and yank handles
cleaned and shiny
in the streetlamp light.
Shadows Across Frosted GlassA translation of Juan José Saer published in Words Without Borders, April 2008
Time is so complicated, yet so simple! Now I'm in the living room sitting in the rocking chair, and I can see Leopoldo's shadow in the bathroom while he begins to undress. It seems so simple to think about right now, but when I face the expanse of that now, I immediately realize how weak memory really is. Memory is a tiny little part of every now, and all the rest of that now is nothing but memory's illusion—darting and fleeting too quickly to ever really grab hold of. Take, for example, my right breast.