By Carlota Vásquez The blank page taunts me, Yet here I am, about to try again For the thirtieth, fortieth, One hundredth time. And now that I’ve begun, I realize That only by recurring to metaphors Can I hope to describe poetry To someone other than a poet. To painters: words…
By Carlota Vásquez Dear Moon, There is a myth that comes from the Arhuaco indigenous people, the natives of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, and so it goes: when the world was created, all its inhabitants, including the Arhuaco tribe, lived in pitch-black darkness. Then one day, one of their women gave birth to…
