Three poems by Lester Gómez Medina

Born in Nicaragua, studied in Costa Rica and settled in London since 2014. This exclusive poetic triptych is his first for our magazine

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The dust in my house

My father was born dead. 
I saw my oldest sister rub her eyes,
'I’ve got dust,' she would say.

What did he look like?
'Never mind.' My other sister would say. 
Dust hung in the air.

They would ask each other, 'Blow into my eye.'
I wanted to help,
but they would just say 'Never mind.'

I visit my sisters sometimes, 
when the oldest one sees me
she starts rubbing her eyes.

The prodigal son

When he left town
     he was not afraid of turning to salt,
looking back wasn't even an option,
     from the plane window he saw the lights,
some were yellowish, others lighter
     drawing the relief of the valley, the mountains,
lights waving like tiny hands.

The wings of the plane made him think of angels
     the ones he never saw, but he knew could fly,
the ones he never heard, but he knew could sing,
     like the cherubs that always sing
and he felt sorry for them, he couldn’t understand
     why sing and sing, when there is in life,
finite or eternal, so much to live and make a path for

Earthen floor

I heard 
the old red brick house where I was born 
       finally gave way.
       The roof, 
exhausted from the tiles, collapsed.
       Poor it, 
       so much sun and rain, 
so much carrying the illusion that one would return.

I heard
it happened at night, that the battens creaked,
       suddenly
       the tiles fell. 
So much strength, so much living
        waiting, waiting
        for one to see it again.
Pity, the usual thing is that one goes and pays respect

        to see the remains,
        to turn that page.

I heard
no one was found
        under the rubble.
The noise shook the neighbourhood,
        then everything went silent.

Lester Gómez Medina’s work has appeared in the collection in Visitantes II published by El Ojo de la Cultura and also in a publication by Exiled Writers Ink. His most recent publication is a “pamphlet” titled The Riddle of the Cashew