Work Left Unfinished
translated by
Ximena Gómez
&
George Franklin
When I pushed the door
there was no one in the room.
In the background, an open window
and a disquieting afternoon light
falling obliquely on the unplastered wall.
At the front, on a plank table,
someone had left two metal buckets.
One filled with garlic, radishes, and onions,
another full of half-dried leaves and roses.
There was no one in the rest of the house.
The day before, at dawn, soldiers came in.
And the woman with red cheeks
who’d arrive at seven, humming –
no one has ever seen her again.
Translation from the Spanish
Author’s note: I wrote this poem after seeing a reproduction of Andrew Wyeth’s Cranberries. I thought about what it would be like if the painting came from Colombia—where there are no cranberries and where a deserted house can mean something entirely different from what it means here.
More by Ximena Gómez
May 2022
Muses—a special section showcasing writers, artists, and their inspirations, with cover art by Holly Wilson—headlines the May/June 2022 issue of World Literature Today, the 400th issue in the magazine’s 95-year history. Other highlights include poetry, essays, creative nonfiction, and fiction and a wealth of new titles reviewed including new work by Victoria Chang, Louise Glück, and Alain Mabanckou.
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