22 de noviembre

Faltan dos días para tu cumpleaños y hoy mientras estaba aquí, en mi casita, sentada haciendo un trabajo de poesía. Recordé lo que hice hace algunos años. No me culpes, no sé cuantos años han pasado exactamente. No quiero saberlo. El poema también me recordó a ti. Lo voy a dejar aquí. No creo que lo leas.

Es mucho mejor así.

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Elizabeth Bishop