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In Winter she´s cold, really cold,

Colder than other people.

She bundles up but she´s still cold.

She sits in the house for days on end.

She doesn´t do what she´d like to do,

things get in the way.

This isn´t the first time she´s felt the cold.

Nor the first time it´s winter.

Sometimes she gets fed up.

Did she ever ask you for much?

You´ll admit she hasn´t.

She wants kisses.

Now she´s even crying.

Give her kisses...

I saw the eclipse through tear-filled eyes,

and,

as usual,

without a word...

Black glass before me

hiding the beauty

of the evening sky.

I didn´t want it.

No.

I didn´t want

just a filtered image

of a dark Sun.

I dropped the glass,

and it shattered to bits.

I saw the eclipse

through naked eyes,

and,

as usual,

without a sound,

even as I was burning...

Hot embers before me

and I wonder

if the Sun´s evil beauty

was not meant for me...

Will you shine me a thousand white moments

when the wind blows away

my sweet girly music?

I am barely here,

languid in the iron-gray storm,

in a sordid place,

under black rocks.

The dream-like rain

is crushing my breast,

while the whispering misty moon

asks me about summer.

“It is a most delicate shadow”,

I cry weakly,

through blood and rust.

Give me a thousand white moments.

I think I am now a tiny raw woman,

shaking and mad,

gone with my void-like chains and masks.

But I will not forget...

There we are,

I can see it already,

lying down under the stars,

on top of a mountain,

in a faraway place,

while we hear the distant roar of the Tiger.

All around us, the jungle,

alive,

rustles,

breathes,

lives.

Our faces,

our bodies,

are painted in many colours,

just because.

We are exhausted

from a tiring journey full of laughter,

but we still have many roads to travel.

We are wild.

We are complete.

We are not afraid.

There we are...

I was strong.

Not strong like a rock,

not strong like an oak tree...

just strong like a girl.



I was sad.

Not sad like the war,

not sad like the desert...

just sad like a girl.



Then you came,

and you won my heart with your sparkling eyes,

and you conquered my body with caresses like feathers,

and you cut through my soul with words like razors,

and my sanity broke with images like mirrors;

and I loved you,

not like a friend,

not like a sister,

but like a lover...

...and then came the time in which I felt the power,

the power that my love gave you to my eyes:

power to humiliate me,

power to reject me,

power to hurt me...

many images of imaginary power.



I, then, felt weak.

Not weak like a newborn,

not weak like a soap bubble...

Just weak like a girl.



I, then, reacted,

with girl-like manners,

with temper tantrums,

with black reproaches,

with tears and silences.



You, then, endured me,

with patience,

with love,

with understanding,

with kisses and hugs and laughter.



You slowly put away my reluctance to being loved.

“I love you”, you said.

“No, you don´t”, said I,

and it went round and round many times,

until I believed you...

...and we made love.



You understood my gestures,

I understood your words.



And you made me feel pretty.

Not pretty like a sunset,

not pretty like a rainbow...

just pretty like a girl.



And you made me happy.

Not happy like a song,

not happy like a girl...

but happy like a woman.



And you made me feel loved.

Not loved like a friend,

not loved like a sister...

but loved like a lover.

I was here,

shaken but steady,

hardened and closed

like a rock,

comfortable, though sad, in my darkness.

Now the light has struck me,

and I´m falling,

feeling giddy on my way down,

yet strangely happy...

Locked up,

looking out

at the strret flooded with sunlight.

Eternal sunlight,

from which I cannot escape.

I can never escape

from this room,

from this life,

oozing to the rythm of my mother´s heart,

shaking to the rythm of my father´s screams.

There are fifteen orange trees in my street.

I should know.

I count them over and over

from my bedroom window.

I can see a patch of sky

from where the early butterflies

call me :

“ Come play! Come play!”

But I can´t walk.

I stay between these walls,

and, holding back the tears,

I turn away...

My shadow aches

in the delirious beauty of the day...

A cry for life

urges you to ask

why am I so tiny and raw.

I could answer that the death-time is gone.

I watch from my blood-red moment

these bare, smooth rocks;

how bittersweet their love!!

When will they crush me

with those true dreams of rain?

What must I do to show you these things?

Who will take it all away from under our feet?

After the void-like place,

always the chains and the iron gardens,

and the visions of white winters.

Ask me if I was there,

sleeping beneath your powerful sea,

delicate and weak.

We shine with a light like a thousand suns

as we scream abot love through storms,

black and blue,

yet still above water.

From the light in my window he can see into me,

but I cannot see him until he is close,

breathing,with a smile,at my window.

He comes to take me,

to turn me round and round:

“Come out and play, come play,

lie still,lie still,lie still.”

Little rhymes and little songs,

pieces of the forest in my hair and clothes.

Sometimes I see him near me,

when I know he can´t be there...

When I call out,

noone can hear me.

When I whisper,

he thinks the message

is for him only.

My little voice inside my throat...

I always think there must be something

that I´ve done

or something I can do...

But noone comes to help.

He says:

“A little girl like you...”

We agree:

if we wish for something hard enough,

it might happen.



Well,

these days I´m really wishing for something...

Something secret,

something new.



It´s halfways here,

if I look closer.



It´s written down and sealed.

It´s coming at the speed of sound.



Torture wouldn´t make me say out loud.

Gentleness, time and laughter might coax it out of me.



Perhaps.



Will it happen?

Well, I AM wishing very hard...

After a while,

I go dowstairs again,

almost furtively,

to open the little door of secrets and wonders.



The key goes in, slowly;

My heart beats faster...

I look inside:nothing,

and a bit of the sky falls on my head.



I go back upstairs, lonely,

shuffling my feet.

I make myself busy:I read.

I start getting restless and...



...before I know it,

I´m downstairs,

key in hand,

before the magic box again,

the box that links your soul to mine.



Is it a trick of the light,

or is there something inside?

I pick up the precious letter

and, this time, running upstairs,

I tune out the rest of the world,

while I try to read and breathe

at the same time.



My cat stares at me

wondering why I´m smiling...

Someday, I might tell him.

Some of these poems were written for my husband when we hadn´t met yet. We were pen-pals for a year first, and, as I was going through a bad time (my mum was in a coma after an op and I was really anorexic), his letters and the things he said on them meant the world to me, and inspired me a lot...

Other poems were just written as I sat all bored in the classromm, pretending to take notes.

Anyway, I will be putting them here a bit at a time.