They knock, they call.
Doorbells ring in the house.
Someone searches for something at unexpected times.
They may be from the post office
Mormons offering Bibles,
some absent-minded stranger
or the beggar coming for a loaf of bread.
It may be the neighbor wanting to talk about the high cost of living
or her husband the money lender to collect the interest.
But maybe it’s the plumber
or the gipsy woman to forecast bad times,
or strange plagues and strong infections.
Who is it knocking at this unexpected hour?
It is not love,
it is not the son, or my father.
It surely is death and the used clothes dealer
coming for my defeated body
or the landlord to evict me,
which is the same thing.
Translated by Nicolás Suescún