Poetry by Miguel Caldas

THE QUESTION

It was night and we were drinking in the garden by the church.
I looked at my friend and asked him,
- “Di, are you always aware that you’re black?”
- “No, not really. Sometimes I think about it, if someone is weird with me in a bar,
or on the street … people looking at you funny, know what I mean”?
- “Yeah”
- “Then I think, is this because I’m black?
But you don’t know.
Not really.
It can be for so many reasons
…
-“Yeah; but I think about it.”




MÁRIO

“When your stepfather was dying in the hospital”
Said my mother
He would look at me and say:
“Save me! Save me!”
And I thought he was talking about the medication that caused him pain”
 
She took a sip from her glass and continued.

“But of course I was lying to myself.
He wasn’t talking about the medication…
And,
Yeah…
Not everyone dies well."




THE MOUTH OF BABES

Dad! You have to remember we're not in the twentieth century anymore!
I opened my mouth to speak
and found only remembrances of 79, 85, 95...
Pointing my finger at my daughter
I paused to say something,
and said nothing.
 
Then my wife laughed.

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 Bio: Miguel Caldas was born in Mozambique in 1972, but now resides in Lisboa, Portugal, since the age of three, where he lives with his wife, daughter and a turtle.

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