miércoles, 9 de abril de 2014

Cosas que se pierden para siempre

Y yo me pregunto, si alguna vez piensas en lo que perdiste, si alguna vez piensas en lo que pudimos haber sido, si alguna vez piensas en mi...

There are times that walk from you,
like some passing afternoon.
Summer warmed the open window
of her honeymoon 
And she chose a yard to burn,
but the ground remembers her 
Wooden spoons, her children stir her 
Bougainvillea blooms.

There are things that drift away,
like our endless, numbered days 
Autumn blew the quilt right off the
perfect bed she made 
And she's chosen to believe 
in the hymns her mother sings 
Sunday pulls its children from their 
piles of fallen leaves 

There are sailing ships that pass
all our bodies in the grass 
Springtime calls her children 'till she
let's them go at last 
And she's chosen where to be, 
though she's lost her wedding ring 
Somewhere near her misplaced jar 
of Bougainvillea seeds.

There are things we can't recall, 
blind as night that finds us all 
Winter tucks her children in, 
her fragile china dolls 
But my hands remember hers, 
rolling 'round the shaded ferns 
Naked arms, her secrets still like
songs I'd never learned.

There are names across the sea, 
only now I do believe 
Sometimes, with the windows closed, 
she'll sit and think of me 
But she'll mend his tattered clothes 
and they'll kiss as if they know 
A baby sleeps in all our bones, 
so scared to be alone.

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