Pablo’s Lesion

By Brian Alarcon

/ Poetry /    

I am sorry for showing up

just now 

like that 

with you, all

there right there

I was crazy, singing something I didn’t know yet.

I have a gash from my elbow to my wrist that sliced in half my Breton tattoo.

I was climbing a rock.

I never know what to do when I am not loved.

I put some sap on it.

I am here now for a bandage or a cast or maybe you know better what this needs.

I am not medicinally inclined.

I hate the sound of touching leaves during a drought.

Here to see the health of it. Here to breathe less blood with you, señora.

Buena persona. Everyone around here. En el monte.

I was singing the world off my back.

Making cuts in my esophagus for it sound rough.

Gripping small rocks as they fell into my mouth.

Sliding them up and down.

Vibrating them into my head, smashing them into my chest. 

Extending the notes as far as my breath.

I had a decade itch there. I scratched it, then I spun off.

Basta, señora. It’s not my fault.

Am I a useless person? Am I unbearable? Am I tough?

I am aware of all my faults. I just don’t care to fix them.

I thought they were fun.

I’ve heard about your son. Can you save the tattoo?

I heard that he’s guerrilla and the jaguar of el monte allá.

The leaves must cut and cut as you walk through el monte allá. 

Or what are those? On your arms.

But if he only visits you.

But if he’s gone into the forest to find love.

But if he’s here in the backyard and the paramilitaries and the gringos and even the horses look over the mine.

I am. I am her grandson.

I do speak Spanish. I was never taught Misak.

Can you patch it up?

Doesn’t have to be gauze. Is he here, in the backyard?

Will he meet me?

No, I. Yes, but. 

I broke up with the anteater man. I scare him.

During El Paro I saw my cousin tear gassed in Puerto Resistencia. He was a volunteer medic in the second line.

I got sent back to my dad before the airport closed down.

Anteater man called me a coward. 

He said: fuck off to your States, I hate speaking English to you.

I wasn’t enough of anything for him.

If your son were here now, would he have chased me out?

The tattoo is from Nadja. Some book. A vain man falls in love with a crazy lady. Do you think he’s listening? 

I’d love to tell you both the story.

I was singing something I didn’t know yet. 

After I fell, the Lover’s Flower ripped in half. Four eyes dripping blood.

I was on the ground. Maybe a kilometer from the trail. Everything dust between trees.

I tied my shirt around my arm. It was a gift.

It says BIOGENESIS on it, which means. Well. 

Whatever. It’s Undercover, from Japan.

Now it’s ripped up earth and blood. Now it’s yours to make a mop.

Wait, please keep listening.

I was on the ground with my shirt around my forearm and the birds following me above.

They’re always there. Waiting for me to fall.

I sat up and hallucinated that I knew which way to go.

I remembered what is said about you and your son.

I’m sure you’ve heard what is said about me. I thought with this gash we’d finally meet.

I was walking for a few hours leaving a trail of blood.

To lure the jaguar.

But he never came.

I thought he might be here, busy with you. 

I sang and sang until you found me. Get up,

Get up and fight. Get up and fight.

Get up