The Queen of Spain, Grown Old and Mad, Writes to the Daughter She Imagines She Had by Christopher Columbus

Most beautiful,
I disclaim you.
You are not my new found land
nor my Hesperides
nor my America.
You are not mine
and I do not name you.
     I tear up the map
of the world of you
that had your rivers
in the wrong places,
imaginary mountains,
false passes leading my expeditions
to quicksands,
cannibals, jaguars.
     Most truthful,
I disown you.
I do not own you.
Truly I have never known you.
     When you tell me
who you are
I will call you by that name.
When you tell me
where you are
my compass will point there.
When you tell me
of your prairies, your sierras,
I will see them in the blue air

above the western sea.
     O golden Peru,
treasure never mine,
most beautiful, most true!
Between us
is neither forgiveness
nor reparation
but only the sea waves, the sea wind.
     If ever you send
across the sea,
bells will be rung
in the old towers
and the Te Deum sung.
Crowned, jeweled, furred,
I will come forward:
Tell me, my Lord Ambassadors!
From the New World
what word, what word?