Beyond Dimensions

by Carolina Alvarado


I

Wander with that souvenir in your pocket,
leave it at the bus station,
in some concert hall,
hope it will tire of you,
it will not return. 
Forget the womb, the breasts,
everything did jerkily
as a cubist painting,
a body's blue season.

Leave the souvenir in the park,
hang it from a banister,
be distracted for a second
and let it fall into the grate’s slit.
Waiting for it to go with the rain,
far from you, from your memories,
where you can´t see her turned into that,
where her eyes don´t look like two black holes.

Remember the girl she was,
the one who dreamed across the lagoon,
changing into a lotus.
Look at her running to you, scared,
overwhelmed by the poppies
that came out from her sex. 
Imagine she was in your nuptials,
that she saw you take a husband,
she dropped snowflakes on your head. 

Avoid mirrors, where you see her as a shadow.

II

Remember her smile, sea breeze,
her first hands drawing on yours.
wishing to be a witch, fortune teller,
yearning to have had glimpses,
stop the hand of that man.

Deny you have drawn the revolver, pulled the trigger,
you haven´t hesitated in the dream;
take refuge in God,
pray every night:
So pain doesn´t rumble in your throat;
So she doesn´t cry while you sleep;
So you don´t wake up knowing she´s not. 
Knowing: a damned man sliced her with a knife;
her girl body came out from a plastic bag;
rats bit her thighs.
Knowing: her body had to be rearmed. 

III

Write about her,
evoke her swallow´s spirit
and let her sing on your shoulder.