The sound of us is To write this poem first in Spanish; Is to choose the words, to taste them, To decide to change the s's for j's. To make a voj sound better than a vos. It's reggaeton on a minibus Going through the historical center The rhythm of the music that doesn't leave us Even though we're miles away. It's "a la gran puchica!" so strong That our lungs rumble in our chest. It is to remember all this and more, Much more, With cumbias every Christmas.
The sound of us also happens in silence: The subtle blow of the elbow in the hand. To say that stingy is that one; It's perfecting the "Duck face" before it was called that. To say, "Look over there, that, pass me that". It's playing musical chairs to sit first With a look, just one, From one of the aunts, your mom, any of them.
The sound of us is: "Long time no see!" all arriving for a visit, It's a "let me know when you get there," Because we know how short life is, How unexpected the tragedy, How blessed it is to have family close by. It's my grandmother saying, "Come and eat". Every Christmas, New Year's Eve, Birthdays, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Children's Day, On any given Wednesday.
The sound of us ringing incessantly In my head, being here or there, Reminds us that you are here, Here, close by; For the sound of us reminds us That the loudest, coziest, most soothing thing Is that we are us.
