PERRA BLANCA
CARL PHILLIPS
A la primera nevada - la he liberado -
Digo bien, liberado, no regresará.
Esto es diferente de dejar ir algo
que ya damos por perdido. Nada
de eso. Tampoco es como querer saber lo que
se siente cuando perdemos algo que amamos. Oh, sí:
Yo la amo.
Liberada, parece por un momento como
alguna parte de mí que, casi,
no me importaría
entender mejor, ¿no es eso
amor? Ella parece una parte de mí,
y luego parece totalmente como lo que es:
una perra blanca,
de repente menos blanca, entre la nieve,
que no regresará. Lo sé; y, aun sabiéndolo,
la libero. Es como si la liberara
porque lo sé.
WHITE DOG
First snow-I release her into it-
I know, released, she won't come back.
This is different from letting what,
already, we count as lost go. It is nothing
like that. Also, it is not like wanting to learn what
losing a thing we love feels like. Oh yes:
I love her.
Released, she seems for a moment as if
some part of me that, almost,
I wouldn't mind
understanding better, is that
not love? She seems a part of me,
and then she seems entirely like what she is:
a white dog,
less white suddenly, against the snow,
who won't come back. I know that; and, knowing it,
I release her. It's as if I release her
because I know.
Carl Phillips, Premio Pulitzer 2023.