A poem about Vuelvo como un jardín después del invierno [I Return Like a Garden After Winter], Cotelito’s intervention in the cafe of the Museo Moderno
Once upon a time,
there was a closed space.
Its doors
and its locks,
its gates
and padlocks:
silent.
Once upon a time,
there was a closed space,
without any eyes
in the courtyards and windows:
without any gazes.
Once upon a time,
there was a closed space,
without any noises
almost dismantled:
silenced.
Nothing inside
and, from nothing,
comes nothing… they say.
But from the nothing, seeds float
and sprouts grow
from the nothing
and flowers bloom
from the nothing
and from the nothingness, green emerges,
green, hushed and silent.
And green wants water
and hands
and eyes that look
the green
beauty
solid green,
and clinging.
And for the nothing
comes the green
several bodies,
to care for it.
Hands to water it,
and mouths
to sigh for it.
Green that is cared for,
looked at.
Green it grows,
and little legs
run through it,
green nothingness that grows
from the nothing nothing.
And green and legs
and eyes and mouths,
press against the locks,
the gates, the doors,
because there is nothing
that green
does not open.