Confessions of a Bird

 I weep like a child, it is said, I say I weep like a martyr on the cross.

After everything cooked, breakfast prepared and taken, the animals fed, the courtship with them, the cuddles and calling Moony who was eating the carcass of a dove she killed, the beds were made, while my mother watched the news and folded a garment that I picked up from the rope.  The day is dry. Not me. The pain of the soul is here and with it you. You are with me and I take you everywhere, to the street, to the soup, to the stew that my son complained that he was waiting for the usual, but I added mushrooms to him and he lost his appetite. I bring you inside like a simmer that, when you least expect it, wakes up and burns everything around. After setting the lunch table, I put all the minutiae in the machine and in the 32-minute program, I sand the pots and pans and a well-sanded coffee maker. Curious, I can see at the base of them my tears, but not my eyes, not my smile. My mom asked me for a song, while complaining that the cell phone causes radiation in the head and electrifies our ears, Cristina puts on Julio Iglesias, while she sees me on my back sanding the pots, I put his Hey, we hear both, but she is in her world and I am in mine, of which she is a part. She's far away, but I'm here. With this pain lodged, between the parietals and the soul, the tears ask me for calm, in fact everything in me asks for the same: calm down, girl, no one gets out of here alive. Eternity may well wait. And I need to vomit up the pain. 

A pain that remains true to me, never leaves me, except when I see you and you know, when I see you, just close your eyes in a minute of solitude and the pain is detached and replaced by the dream! This one, the oldest, in it you are with me, far, far away, on the coast of Perpignan, while I catch a glimpse of two or three cats and the rocks and the waves crashing against the nightmares that lean against me. If I came to be a martyr, why didn't they put me on a cross immediately, as soon as I was born, for the delight of those who love bloodletting? Why give me the brief illusion of paradise? Why?

There are no immediate answers, there is an understanding that I will get there. To that great beach where you can guess dunes and boulders dug by the millions of years of weight of the waters, always hitting there. I will get there when you have disappeared in me, when you are only cells and blood, the sap of life in me! Until then, I will come to you, you more than the beach, more than the ocean, more than above and below.  More than outside, always inside. That's where I have you the most raw. 

I didn't make coffee, I just praised it the coffee maker, now no coffee tastes like coffee, I need to revisit the old recipes of a mother I have in heaven, I need you to give me the coordinates for this sublime coffee making. I feel, however, the smell taking over me, the taste buds and even the sea, ah the sea that makes me fall in love, God, everything in you becomes supreme and tears are tears of gratitude and joy, because even on the cross, where I have stood, I can appreciate all your beauty and the dimension of life! What a beautiful day to exist and love on earth!

And I'm already on the computer, my love, my life, may my blood, my soul bring you some use. I am here, but that is the illusion, because truly you know that it is there, inside your chest that I beat! Like the waves of this ocean you have become to me! I am there, yes, beating in your veins, feeling the horse of your chest running free, on the edges where the waves die. And that's where I stay into the afternoon. I love you beyond the veil. I love you naked and without ellipsis that limit, or verbs that shrink this love. I love you beyond and for many lifetimes. And I delight in you, I fall asleep on the bed of this dream.