Arroyo, Ropa Y Espuma

The stream bends right in front of a gatekeeper
Several wires stretched out and the sun hits the rooftops
A woman bending over the board, taking a nap
The stream flows whiter with the foam of laundry
And I see her pass by, water down, out in the hills

As a kid, I filled my curious, innocent eyes
With a bent back and tired steps heading to the stream
And as a kid, I understood that the poor are like a thornbush
They cling to life even if it’s in the stream
Romantic for the poet, for the silent poor

A big bundle of clothes, immense sorrow of the soul
That doesn’t allow for peace when I find her during the siesta
White-haired at the temples, carrying clothes to the center
A dark fate of the neighborhood because winter is so fierce
Washing clothes for others, even if she can’t afford her own

If you get close to the stream, brother, look at the foam
Made by tired hands as white as the moon
Herons flying far above the thicket
Curious about the weariness because it’s all their fortune
Sweat and a wet belly, stream, clothes, and foam

Sweat and a wet belly, stream, clothes, and foam