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  Moisés Villavicencio Barras
Moisés Villavicencio Barras
Moisés Villavicencio Barras is a Mexican poet, translator, fiction writer, and co-founder of Cantera Verde, a magazine that has been one of the most significant literary publications in Mexico for the last twenty years. His first book of poetry, May Among Voices, was published in 2001. His poetry has been selected for several Mexican anthologies, magazines and CD's. His children's book Urarumo (2005) was published and distributed by the Department of Education in Oaxaca, México. He received two writing fellowships through the National Commission for the Arts in Mexico (1993-1994 and 1996-1997). His poetry also has been published in the United States (Verse Wisconsin, Beatitude Golden Anniversary) and Canada (Comtemporary Verse 2). His newest children's book Tito, the Lost Bellybutton was published in December 2012 by the Department of Public Instruction of Oaxaca, Mexico. He has lived in Madison, Wisconsin, since 2001 and teaches second grade. Visit the author's blog at migrations2012.blogspot.com. See also Cowfeather Press for more poetry and an interview.

It Also Snows Ashes



Moisés Villavicencio Barras
It is snowing ashes
from the hands
of those who got tired
of waiting.
Like my ancient house
it is snowing memories.
From your eyes
it is snowing blood and stones.
The evening snows pain.
It is snowing with the desire
to say 'no more' to man's things.
It is snowing in the clock room.
It is snowing in dark classrooms,
in hallways
where life is prohibited.
From the highest and deepest
point of lonely matter it is snowing,
like when we fight
with our heads, fist and elbows.
Everybody is covered
with this wet and real blend
of violence and tenderness.



Nieva también ceniza
Nieva también ceniza
desde las manos
de los que se cansaron
de esperarnos.
Como mi casa antigua
nieva cuando recuerda.
Nieva desde tus ojos sangre y piedras.
Nieva dolores la tarde.
Nieva con ganas de decir basta
a las cosas de los hombres.
Nieva en el cuarto de las manecillas
en las aulas oscuras
en los pasillos
donde se prohibe la vida.
Desde el punto
más alto y profundo
de la materia sola, nieva.
Nieva con los puños,
cabeza y codos.
A todos nos cae
esta mezcla de ceniza
con la violencia y la ternura
de la nieve real y húmeda.



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