The boy is much cleaner than poodles and parrots
or the Persian cats
that are always shedding their fur on my pillows
I treat him like my own
I tell him he’s the child of my old age
I stroke his curly hair and hold him in my arms
Oh, how beautifully he behaves!
Not a rebel
like his father, Toribio
Not a servant
like his mother, María del Pilar
The boy is a genius
a pleasure to behold
a wonder to hear
I take him in my coach and he sits beside me
calling me Mamá
he barely knows his other mother anymore
now I am the real one
if only he weren’t quite
so dark
When I leave the country houses, city houses, palaces
when I leave without him, oh, how he screams!
Everyone laughs
he’s inconsolable
how amusing, they say,
the child actually thinks he belongs to you—
in that other way
of belonging