I took refuge in my memory, there I felt comfortable and accompanied; the present sun, a path of memories, some pleasant and others not so much, but it was the waves that rocked me that helped my sweet walk. The taste of saltpeter, the sound of the timple, mom singing an isa.
The burgaos, the gofio, the wet cholas; accompanying the luminous and sweet slice of watermelon. I toured our small continent; I released my poems in flight from the Roque Nublo, I furrowed paths scented with violets from El Teide. I heard my mother calling me with the sound of the silbo gomero. Lulled by the fresh air of the Volcán del Cuervo, I continued listening to the voices of my children, my brothers, under the warmth of that precious Caldera de Taburiente. The sancocho, the pella de gofio, the fish broth, that old woman so rich, from Cotillo majorero; the smile of my nephews, playing with the bucket and the basin, where they washed their feet after coming from the Charco Azul on the island of El Hierro. I lean out the window and see El Risco, from La Graciosa, with its beaches.
My Plaza de España with my Victoria cinema, the watercress stew and my father's hand, walking through the Castillo de la Luz. I looked at my feet, and those roots, so strong, grabbed me, my family, my friends, the friends of my childhood; that still accompany me, all at once, they shouted, come here girl, don't shrink, before anyone, let's knead and continue rocking in this our small Continent.
Happy day, beloved Canary Islands!
Juani Alemán Hernández
