Three sonnets by Lucía Hernández Rodríguez

 

Lucía Hernández Rodríguez

NOT ME

 

To whom, for sure, it does concern: I’ve lived

for looks that never came and words that were

not even uttered, which a throat deceived;

by silence cut, it bleeds. Your hands, so bare

yet dressed in thorns that suit you well. Then go

ahead: pretend your claws, your touch, will stain

my lips. Then stir the ground and take it slow:

do bury, wound me deeper: drink from veins

from which I’ve drunk and gotten drunk and just

because I thought they were as mine as yours;

—my fault, my dear— then tear me, make me dust,

because I always was as ours as yours.

And then my hands, so bare, so ripped, so numb,

won't catch your tears: I swear I’ve cried them plumb.

 

 

Like a stain on the whole

 

Because I learnt that, maybe, hands aren’t meant

to hold his flakes unless I want them flayed

or, what’s —again— that thing I took for spears,

if not a whole October dressed in "may"?

If noon’s not noon below his chest,

will time betray my word and words of faith?

Will poems write themselves and bless

that skin I never sailed nor torn or drain?

Will solemn mouths erase what’s left for good

instead of letting tongues incise yet try

to heal an earthy drop of soul I would

have bound, if you had cared, in "mights”?

If love’s not love, what is? A homeless door

I built from me; but I’m not me if yours.

 

 

Implied, as he shall know

 

I wandered back to trails of thorns all bare

on spirit; bold, not knowing fourth is just

as strong as third, or first fervours that tear

that knot I thought to be sincere. But must

I blame her silent nights or soggy feet?

Such wrench ignites and wounds of concrete gone

by; went by eyes which burnt the sun in teal

I changed for you: my reddish scars of dawn,

because you yelled that dusk was much as pale

as dull. Shan’t I from scratch another sun

construct? New shoes and arms, and tongues and tales?

Can’t I rewrite my rhyme? Am I so blank?

Would I portray myself as stains of veins

you wrote me from? If only care weren’t banes.

September 2026

The Prince's Choice

Deborah González Roque

There was once a kingdom lost among mountains and mist. By order of the King, all damsels were required to attend the royal ball, so the prince could choose a wife among them.

On the magical night, the guests were euphoric. Lights? Brilliant as ever. Cutlery? All silver. Glasses? As glassy as they could be. And a young lady—beautiful, of course. Hair like rose gold. Her dress blue, like the heart of the sea. And the shoes! The shoes! She was wearing glass shoes, no less!

The prince couldn't stop looking at her. It was like a spell. But the twelve bells rang. She escaped. He followed her. So many guests. Doors. What a huge palace! He lost her on the stairs.

Heartbroken, he lowered his head. And there it was—a gift from the heavens. One of the beautiful, so very beautiful glass shoes. He embraced it in his arms like a newborn baby.

The next morning, the inhabitants of the kingdom woke up to the news. The prince was looking for the other shoe.

December 2025

Shall I Compare Thee to a Winter's Day?

Lucía Hernández Rodríguez

I live and rest in sin. Yours took away

my peace, my being. You dare to call it love

yet love shan’t be compared to empty days

nor days not lit by glass, sun-kissed, above.

And Shakespeare proudly melts in summer rains.

Did verse not know I lost myself? Your night

to blame. I, fool, believed him. Coldy veins

by forecast cut -by breeze, might be-. No right.

No right to be in sight of winter tears,

a kiss from autumn does as well, though sour:

its falling, tender leaves revive my fears

of seeking blooms in lifeless, naked hours.

So, am I right, my dear, to yearn for spring,

if, still, I doubt about the coat to bring?

November 2025

Where Am I Supposed to Pee?

Pedro Luis Fernández Riestra

April 16th the courts decided,

And it marked the day when my question begins:

Where am I supposed to pee?

I'm not a woman, but the government says I am, 

So where am I supposed to pee?

I suppose the question lies in my biology,

So let's go there:

Where am I supposed to pee, biology?

And biology answers

"How am I supposed to know? If you have your womb, your uterus, your breasts,

But you have a beard and low voice because of your own testosterone."

Ah! PCOS it is! 

So I'm not a normative woman that's it. But still,

I'm no woman at all!

Oh, where am I supposed to pee?

Maybe sociology will have the answer, since it's stereotypes define gender,

 if I do it good enough, maybe they'll let me into

Where I truly belong.

Sociology, sociology, where am I supposed to pee?

How am I supposed to know? 

If by my standards the gender you currently have is none 

Feminine nose, baby face, wide hips thick thighs...

But also short hair, wide shoulders, "masc clothes"

I have no clue what you are now, let alone when your HRT will begin

The line will blur and blur and blur…

And my answer won't matter anyway. Biology is the one whose voice counts in courts...

 But... They didn't answer anything! 

My question remains, 

Where am I supposed to pee??

“Wherever I choose!”

Says the TERF. 

TERF, where am I supposed to pee?

“In the females bathroom. 

You are an adult human female

You produce eggs, it's only natural!”

But, TERF

What about women who have menopause? 

They don't produce eggs, where do they pee?

“That doesn't matter. 

They are females. 

They have a uterus! Like you,

 they shall pee in the women's room.”

But TERF not all women go through that.

Women lose their uterus due to cancer:

Uterine, ovarian, cervical, or fallopian tube...

“The answer is in chromosome then! 

XX, basic biology!

You must pee with the women then!”

I may, but what about the Swyer syndrome girls?

They have XY, because of a lack of their genetics!

 

“Outliers! Outliers! Outliers! Normal women don't have that! It's not that common!”

1 every 80000

 that's, by statistics, at least 3 in Gijón

 My hometown!

Not to mention intersex women

“Outliers! Outliers! You have no idea what you are saying!

It's basic biology! It's human facts!

 Women have between 15 to 70 nanograms per deciliter”

But those are white standards!

They leave me out because of my PCOS

And also leave out racialized women, who always score higher rates. 

They never got tested, the data is outdated.

“Outliers! Outliers!”

A lot of people are outliers!

“It's basic biology!”

Maybe basic does not cut it. What are even your credentials?

“I'm armed with common sense.” 

Your common sense isn't making sense. It always leaves someone behind!

“Who cares about them? They are all outliers!” 

Sounds to me that, for you, the only woman is you: 

Blonde, 

Blue eyed, 

With childbearing ability 

And money to spare! 

If you made it by selling fantasy books, what authority do you even have?

You choose over the professionals:

You choose over scientists,

You choose over anthropologists,

You choose over other cultures' expressions!

“And I shall keep choosing onward.

 I have the money.

 I have the power.

 I have the lords.

 I have the commons.

From now on, I'll choose where you are supposed to pee.”

You may have the money,

You may have the power,

You may have the commons,

You may have the lords.

But I'm done.

No more politeness. 

No more submission.

If you won't reason, only I can answer 

Where I'll pee?

 I'll pee in the men's room.

I'll pee in the bars, I'll pee in the pub, I'll pee in the cinema

And some day, when the time comes:

I'll piss on your grave.

October 2025

Numantia

 

Lucía Hernández Rodríguez

No one fights unless there’s something

to fight for. Thus

no war is crueler than one’s own

—bland poetry, for a start—.

When mind and desire collide

and spit every instance of spark;

stark ash, She burns up those walls

I never meant to trace on our plan

—never meant to be ours, at all—.

 

Gold-dipped steel is still, by all means,

Cheap, and lack of elegance buys nothing

but a pity glance at lack of gleam;

at lack of twinkle on my opaque glass,

fragile as the voice with which I yearn it back.

Turns out stars don’t last that much.

 

Swords against missiles and leather vest

against damp, porcelain grenades.

 

But it’s no use destroying ruins

nor painting never-ending bloody layers

on a ripped canvas no longer hanging

inside our home.

That in which I never meant to melt

—never meant to share one bed, at all—.

 

Toss your head and hear me drop:

hear me fall apart and turn into dust.

Hear, then, how swallowed my dust

Inside ends up your misty hurricane,

which, in the end, I

never meant to make mine.

 

For good, war was never meant to end.

 

Meet my lifeless corpse and, mocking woe,

whisper that you never meant to take me,

at all.

October 2025

 

Final Bar Line

 

 Lucía Hernández Rodríguez

 

With trust I beat yet beating twice might end

with twice a broken heart yet only once

it dared to scream and shout and shriek, then bend

and play adults in teens when being dunce.

 

Yours dared to praise delusion, sharpest grin,

detached your soul from skin; your kiss, no feel.

Your eyes, so blank that guilt I found within

yet dared to sign eternal-lasting deal.

 

Your clock was ticking quicker; time may flaw.

Forgive me, B, for faith; my hope was shoved.

I want you never meant I want you. Saw

I wrong, as wanting never meant you loved.

 

If only quavers lasted more than both

our nights, I’d lend my strings for plastic oath.

October 2025

 

Welcome to the class of 2025-2026!

Dear Students,

We've been working together for a month now, and I am having a good time while introducing you to the literature written in English. I hope you've realized by now that you're doing the degree that you wanted to do, and also that you feel welcome and accepted on the Humanities Campus. I'll do my best to help you feel at home!

I know for a fact that one of the best ways to learn about literature is reading, that goes without saying, but writing is essential too. So that's why I created this blog--so that those of you who want to try their hands at writing feel encouraged to do so and can have a place to see their texts published. I'm sure there are a few writers among you... so I'll be waiting for you to come out and let us all enjoy your amazing works!

Best wishes,

Carolina