Ximena Gómez

The poems of Ximena Gómez have appeared in literary magazines, such as Álastor, Círculo de Poesía, Nueva York Poetry Review, El Golem, Nagari, Hypermedia, World Literature Today, Cagibi, Interrim, Nashville Review, Sheila-Na-Gig, The Laurel Review and The Wild Word. She is the author of the poetry collections, Habitación con moscas (Madrid: Ediciones Torremozas, 2016), “Cuando llegue la sequía” (Ediciones Torremozas, 2021), the dual language poetry collection Último día / Last Day (Katakana Editores, 2019) and a joint dual-language collection in conversation with George Franklin, Conversaciones sobre agua/Conversations About Water (Katakana Editores, 2023). She translated into Spanish Brown Girl Dreaming (Penguin Random House Group), and the bilingual poetry collection, Among the Ruins / Entre las ruinas of George Franklin (Katakana Editores, 2018). She was also one of the translators of 32 Poems/32 Poemas of Hyam Plutzik (Suburbano Ediciones, 2021).

The Dining Room Lamp

I remember her sitting, under that light,as I'd seen her so many times at her mahogany table.
Her hair, still abundant, in waves, with some gray, her skin white, translucent,
Slender hands with blue veins,playing with the tassels of the red table cover, peeking out
from under the fruit bowl. there was another dining room,at her old house in Granada,
the lamp there was pale, the chairs and the wicker table,pale also,
but that lamp lightwas the same dim half-moonas later, when
she’d hum a song,or whisper to me about the oatmeal flakes
she'd buy from the blue-eyed grocerat the corner store.

La Lámpara de Comedor

La recuerdo, sentada bajo esa luz Como otras tantas veces la había Visto en su mesa de caoba.
El pelo todavía abundante, Crespo, algunas canas, La piel blanca, translúcida,
Las manos delgadísimas, Con venitas azules, jugabanCon los flecos de una carpeta roja,
Que se asomaba debajo del frutero. En aquel otro comedor, El de su antigua casa de Granada,
La lámpara era clara, las sillas Y la mesa de mimbre, Claras también,
Pero esa luz de lámpara Era la misma media luna opacaComo después, cuando ella
Tarareaba una canción, O me susurraba algo De la avena en hojuelas
Que le compraba Al hombre de los ojos zarcos De la tienda de esquina.

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