Tiempo de infancia

Childhood Time

The sun shines again
on the tall thistles,
on the old road,
on the fields of my hometown.
The whole afternoon burns
on the new handlebars
of my red tricycle,
a proud steed of my childhood.
I run with it again
through the back of the house,
with my cape in the air
and my tin sword.
My mom, busy as ever,
washing clothes, sings old songs
with her back bent
over the wash basin in the yard.
I start to wonder
where that light went,
that immense joy of a new kite,
at which train station
did I start becoming an adult?
Where did I stash my marbles,
my wind-up blue airplane,
my cardboard Bambi?
Where's the table with its oilcloth,
where's the frown
of my dad at nine,
tired from work,
eating in a rush?
Where's the girl always crying rivers;
my sister and her dolls,
her dreams of dancing?
I start to wonder
where that light went,
that immense joy of a new kite,
at which train station
did I start becoming an adult,
did I start becoming an adult...