A Simple Life...

E. Westphalen y tu

"Te he seguido..." dices

Ese poema que me regalaste ha sido una salvacion. Hay dias que lo leo varias veces, como un pellizco para saber que no estoy soñando. Hay dias que me da
esperanza y otros que me desespera.
Pero es esa imagen final, la de la mano, la que me ha seguido toda la vida. Tu mano en la mia. Mis manos, las que siempre buscaste, ahora esperan (arrepentidas!) con las palmas abiertas, las lineas del destino cambiando a diario por ti.

Por que no te busque antes, preguntas?
No tenia que hacerlo. Yo tambien te seguia. Pero lo hacia distante, y con un amor intenso e incondicional te dejaba quieto para no cambiarte , como no se debe tocar una Obra de Arte. Ella solo se explora de lejos, se admira de cerca, se dibuja en el aire, se deja quieta, se protege para que nos sobreviva y adorne para siempre.

Mi adorado amor de todas las vidas: Ya no tienes que andar mas. Aqui estoy, alargando ambas manos. He parado en seco y dado media vuelta para hallarme en tus ojos.

Ahh!

Gate C22

At gate C22 in the Portland airport
a man in a broad-band leather hat kissed
a woman arriving from Orange County.
They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long after
the other passengers clicked the handles of their carry-ons
and wheeled briskly toward short-term parking,
the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other
like he'd just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island,
like she'd been released at last from ICU, snapped
out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down
from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing.

Neither of them was young. His beard was gray.
She carried a few extra pounds you could imagine
her saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavish
kisses like the ocean in the early morning,
the way it gathers and swells, sucking
each rock under, swallowing it
again and again. We were all watching--
passengers waiting for the delayed flight
to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots,
the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling
sunglasses. We couldn't look away. We could
taste the kisses crushed in our mouths.

But the best part was his face. When he drew back
and looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almost
as though he were a mother still open from giving birth,
as your mother must have looked at you, no matter
what happened after--if she beat you or left you or
you're lonely now--you once lay there, the vernix
not yet wiped off, and someone gazed at you
as if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth.
The whole wing of the airport hushed,
all of us trying to slip into that woman's middle-aged body,
her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses,
little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up

--Ellen Bass

Ausencia

De como sobrevivire estas proximas semanas, ni idea. Me piensas? Ah, como me invaden dudas de adolescente enamorada!Te estoy enviando mi amor cada segundo. Esta noche mire la luna y le pedi que te envie saludos.
que dificil!

INTIMIDAD

Soñamos juntos
juntos despertamos
el tiempo hace o deshace
mientras tanto
no le importan tu sueño
ni mi sueño
somos torpes
o demasiado cautos
pensamos que no cae
esa gaviota
creemos que es eterno
este conjuro
que la batalla es nuestra
o de ninguno
juntos vivimos
sucumbimos juntos
pero esa destrucción
es una broma
un detalle una ráfaga
un vestigio
un abrirse y cerrarse
el paraíso
ya nuestra intimidad
es tan inmensa
que la muerte la esconde
en su vacío
quiero que me relates
el duelo que te callas
por mi parte te ofrezco
mi última confianza
estás sola
estoy solo
pero a veces
puede la soledad
ser
una llama"

(M. Benedetti)

Do you think we'll make it?

Love is a reciprocal torture.
Marcel Proust