Vera Ione Molina, translated by Malu Baumgarten
Even with the need to see her
I run away, the drumming of the rain
on my umbrella
making me rush the step.
Was the Soap Hill washed with soap?
I walked on Rua da Praia
to gain balance
while making plans to find her,
who knows, maybe pretending to look
for someone else
and in the urge of listening to her voice
I was sucked down the 24-Hour Street,
fucked-up me. Under that transparent roof,
the Odeon Bar awaited with its neon signs
At the first sip of beer,
a tap on the window -
I turned and saw her
wet and hesitant
more fucked-up than I.