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martes, 11 de octubre de 2016

Ice (part II) CR-VocalesV

Georgia O'keeffe


I squeezed the ice in my hand with diligent anguish
as if squeezing the absence of a lover,
or my own death at the hands of a stranger.
I closed my eyes and remembered better days,
maybe they weren’t better at all, but now they’re gone
and seem more bearable, more simple, less tragic.
The cities were burning and I was in the midst of each of them,
but the flames didn’t touch me, though it was me who started the fire.
I was in Baton Rouge, Louisiana
burying my own body, butterflies on my chest,
I was beautiful, I was young, and I was fearless.
I was in Alexandria in a madhouse
and I was alive
swimming in the Nile at night, almost touching
the Mediterranean with my feet.
In Amsterdam I was the wind and the North Sea
furiously crashing against all of those who defeated me.
In Gaza, I was the memory of a homeland,
I fell at the hands of the enemy,
but I- was- the city.
I was a Muslim
I was a Christian
I was a Buddhist
I died an Atheist.
I praised my executioners with the same devotion
I made love to the men I loved,
because yes, I entered that temple a few times,
I entered that place, like a young girl
and I escaped that place, transformed,
and my transformation was nothing but decay.

Open your eyes, he commands
I fear I will drop the ice, but the ice has already melted.
I’m shivering again, I’m not travelling through deserts anymore,
I’m back in the cold room, under a gaze that calms me
even if everything else warns me that it should threaten me.
This should help with the constant cold, he hands me a blanket.

And all this rage, Rod?
what do I do with this rage?

He takes a few notes and walks away.



CR-VocalesV



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