Raul Zarita, “The Country of Ice”

“There will be nothing. The gigantic frozen faces
of the mountain flank the frigid march and you
see then the portraits of some boys emerging
from behind the ice. The first face surprises you,
his eyes look up and his lips seem to smile. A
shadow holds him by the hand. You remember
then an interprovincial bus and a seat next to the
window. His little face looks up at you and you
in turn look at him as you press against the glass.
You speak to him knowing that he will only see
the movement of your mouth and your hands
waving goodbye. Now you see him there once
more, through the glaciers, and you want to tell
him something, to leave the bus once and for all,
to take him in your arms.
The cold immobilizes you. You then see the crowd,
the naked, frozen humanity advancing through
the frost and it’s something infinitely remote,
glacial, his face abandoned already in ice.”

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