I didn't know what to post today, so I decided to get out my beautiful, shiny book, La poesía del flamenco, the one that I bought on the first flamenco tour, and choose a letra from the first page I opened to, whatever it happened to be. So, I took the book in my hands, held it for a few moments, and opened carefully.

Why carefully?

Quite honestly, I'm not sure.

I guess I'm kind of that way. I guess I thought I would somehow be guided to open to exactly the right page for today. Tell me you do stuff like that too.

Well, I was not.

Or at least, I wasn't drawn to what I read on that first page.

So I thumbed through and found this...

by José Luis Tejada

Y entre toda esta alegría sólo una pena sin nombre, no poder llamarte mía,
Yo estoy durmiendo en el suelo
 pa que mi cama no pierda el hoyito de tu cuerpo
Cómo te llamas cristiano
 si las cruces que te haces las borras con la otra mano

And amongst all of this happiness just one sorrow without a name, unable to call you mine,
I am sleeping on the floor
 so that my bed does not lose the indentation from your body
How do you call yourself a Christian
 if the crosses you make you erase with the other hand?

You can leave a comment or a suggestion below.  (You know translating is hard for me.)