Escolar Documentos
Profissional Documentos
Cultura Documentos
by Lydia Raurell
Long ago in the cattails mud between the toes running mad we ran over
lightfoot between the rocks leaping the water spaces
to reach the high grass
At 10 am was the second cup fingerends at cigarette
a list of unthoughts tied in string a paper bag to carry them
she faced the window as a door to weightlessness
it begins to be time to go again
Watching the light
lick goldfish back weeds below the ripple and once a snake
whipped black beneath the lilypads we danced in the high grass
hot sun on our bare backs
higher than the geese above us
Grey lights on an unwashed rug
she sits on the edge of a smoke field below in the street a wino prance
of sour breath and tympanum
at 12 pm her foot falls asleep
it begins to be time to go again
Catching the wrists of the willow trees sprung into light and air
free flung and breathless
in the rush of the willow sweep out beyond the dragonflies catching prisms on our tongues from earth to sky and back again as arches or bridges or wind
.~.
Newspapers blown against the
windowpane an empty book of matches
she wipes the table half clean with the inside of her hand
at 2 prn the telephone rings
to tell her new directions
she has preferred the old ones
and it begins to be time to go again
In quest of the turtle painted black red and gold the net hid behind us
as lace on a breeze
bent elbows thrust forward the swallow dips low skimming waterlips
spraystung from laughter below
4 pm is teatime
the teabag taste of dust
the lights begin to glare in yellow making shadows stop on walls she knows the day is wasting
and quietly rubs her spoon
it begins to be time to go again
Following water from dam to downstream skipping pebbles and watercress foaming white water froth under
our knees grasping for mercury minnows like sliver lights into the rock pool where moss sips the cool and our hands touch as one sound
They are all to come
the husbands fathers and sons the open mouths reaching hands she silently thinks of a red fan
it begins to be time to go again
Deep in the woods in the oak chambers shading the rim of the water
the whispers of fallen leaves pressed against skin the lightdappled
wood smells
as keepers of secrets of earth breath and passion
J
She sleeps She dreams
ARIA copyright 1975 by Lydia Raurell
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