Translation of Ángeles Mora: Ironing the Winter Shirts

When spring gave its third notice

in June, already.

When days became

certainly blue

and the sweet light expanded

indefinitely

like the daisies in the garden

that splashed the clean dress of the lawn with

its yellow and white stains.

When the spring came to stay

and the mountains undressed in the distance

she

was sitting in the living room with the window open,

breathing a certain sadness,

like someone who wins and loses at the same time,

watching the evening glimmer, as years pass,

before the summer crushes us,

gently stretching the wrinkles

of the heart,

ironing the winter shirts.