ON THE PRESERVED BODY OF AN INCA CHILD FROZEN TO DEATH AS A SACRIFICE TO THE SUN
The priests collected your teeth,
all your cut hairs from the ground,
the parings of your nails,
so that, dead, in another world
you do not have to go searching far
for the parts of your body.
And will you there be able to make again
from these immature scraps,
and from your frozen shell,
the head that shaded, mouth that spoke to,
hands that played with this silver
doll of the goddess, these flocks
of small gold cattle? If elsewhere
your strong fingers assemble the pieces
or if here the empty form
of your body, more real than the ice
that for centuries treasured up its flesh,
walks through us, still the sun’s light
which makes us its instruments
can’t find you. The sun
for whom you were staked in the snow
only fills the places empty of you,
making us see what is done
in his own false name
to the poor tongues of his fire.
The priests collected your teeth,
all your cut hairs from the ground,
the parings of your nails,
so that, dead, in another world
you do not have to go searching far
for the parts of your body.
And will you there be able to make again
from these immature scraps,
and from your frozen shell,
the head that shaded, mouth that spoke to,
hands that played with this silver
doll of the goddess, these flocks
of small gold cattle? If elsewhere
your strong fingers assemble the pieces
or if here the empty form
of your body, more real than the ice
that for centuries treasured up its flesh,
walks through us, still the sun’s light
which makes us its instruments
can’t find you. The sun
for whom you were staked in the snow
only fills the places empty of you,
making us see what is done
in his own false name
to the poor tongues of his fire.