O

Our sister does not talk she plays under the trees and collects the fallen leaves.

At home she put them in lines to dry afterwards they go in her book when the year ends the books are burn and she starts again.

Welcome, they said.

Welcome, they said. The door opened, she entered the house. The kitchen looked old, the sofa in the reception a odd shade of pink. The bedroom, pale green, contained a wardrobe, drawer and a stern looking bed. There was no garden, just a small patio. She took it and moved the day after. She brought her books and clothing in a small bag.

She bought the parrot a week later. When it died, she scoured the ads for a taxidermist and got it stuffed. Nobody visited her and she did not visit anybody either. She wanted to forget everything and leave no trace. When the young man came to knock on her door, it was a surprise she let him in. He came out with a small bag and the parrot. She died a week later.

It was only at her death inquest that they discover that the young man was her grandchild, who had tracked her down. Her only son had left home when he was fourteen and she never heard from him again until that day. Fifty years had passed.

 

 

 

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She visits

She visits the same park everyday. She sits on a bank, opens her handbag, fetches a cigarette and a lighter, smokes a pair of puff, disposes of the cigarette and then off she goes again. 

 

I have followed here ever since I saw her, at a distance, I do not want to frighten her yet. She wears the same black hat and does not look at anybody, just the birds and the clouds. Sometimes, she takes a photo and smiles a bit.

 

B

Blue sky-she sits on a bench in the park. The birds dart from tree to tree, raucous bickering relishing.

She sits on a bench in the park. The clouds are gathering, she doesn't care.

She sits on a bench in the park. Her fate is sealed.

 

 

 

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Now

Nowadays, she only draws flowers

Today

Today, she carved her skin once more; she said she wanted to have her say.

Mother soothed her to sleep and prayed the dream never to come again

H

 

Home is faraway,

 they speak the same language

 yet she refuses to understand 

they think she is crazy and weird

The lake

The lake beckons, the birds loiter, she vomits in the bushes and prays

The austere

the austere city shimmers under the spring sun, she sits on the bench to think

M

Mother wants a new coat, there is no money left,

 she cries a little

 and then returns to cleaning the new house

The market

The market explodes with unknown fruits, she goes from stall to stall collecting, smelling, dreaming

We walk

 

We walk through the park

the leaves are falling

our sister shuffles and cannot smile anymore

In our

In our family nobody speaks, we glide accross our lives entombed in our silence

He sailed

He sailed from Marseilles in 19.. arrived in Buenos Aires 

                            sold eggs                                         made noodles 

                                                               went around the countryside in a wagon

                                  went up the river

 fell in love with a peasant girl who bore him three children 

                                                                      and then left.

 

She

She feels happy for a moment: nobody knows her any more the lake looks placid she can start to forget

 

 

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The cold plate

The cold plate of food stares at us, we try to eat and are defeated at every turn Mother says

 we cannot leave the table until we clean our plates off.

 Our sister kicks out everything on the floor. Mother sighs lits a cigarrette, when she has finished

she gets up and puts it down burning the tablecloth.

 We look in awe at the heat eating up the cloth

The city

 

 

The city, nestled in the mountains, shines under the morning sun. A light fog shimmers. She walks around the neighbourhood, only the maids are out and about. Alone, she wanders forgetting her past.

 

 

 

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books

 The books pile: look at them, abandon them, turn around walk out, nothing is left from a previous life stripped bare, shuffle, ea,t shit, sleep the new country

Drought

 

Drought, red broken earth, a ramshackle house, a clothing line, a hole on fire,

the hand hovering -there is no time left

 

Monks

The monks sing gregorian chants.

She wakes up in a dime motel -the walls peeling- with somebody next to her.

The monks chanting at five o'clock in the morning: she gets up and listens.

She wishes the city did not exist

Radio

The radio in the background the tv in the background the washing machine in the background the turntable in the background our Mother in the middle weeping

Door

 

She walks towards the door: the bell is ringing

 she sits down on the stair and waits

 the sun sparkle through the window

 she cannot open the door