a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

letra de in the waiting room - krgkgm

in worcester, massachusetts
i went with aunt consuelo
to keep her dentist’s appointment
and sat and waited for her
in the dentist’s waiting room
it was winter. it got dark
early. the waiting room
was full of grown-up people
arctics and overcoats
lamps and magazines
my aunt was inside
what seemed like a long time
and while i waited i read
the national geographic
(i could read) and carefully
studied the photographs:
the inside of a volcano
black, and full of ashes;
then it was spilling over
in rivulets of fire
osa and martin johnson
dressed in riding breeches
laced boots, and pith helmets
a dead man slung on a pole
–“long pig,” the caption said
babies with pointed heads
wound round and round with string;
black, naked women with necks
wound round and round with wire
like the necks of light bulbs
their br–sts were horrifying
i read it right straight through
i was too shy to stop
and then i looked at the cover:
the yellow margins, the date
suddenly, from inside
came an oh! of pain
–aunt consuelo’s voice–
not very loud or long
i wasn’t at all surprised;
even then i knew she was
a foolish, timid woman
i might have been embarrassed
but wasn’t. what took me
completely by surprise
was that it was me:
my voice, in my mouth
without thinking at all
i was my foolish aunt
i–we–were falling, falling
our eyes glued to the cover
of the national geographic
february, 1918
i said to myself: three days
and you’ll be seven years old
i was saying it to stop
the sensation of falling off
the round, turning world
into cold, blue-black sp-ce
but i felt: you are an i
you are an elizabeth
you are one of them
why should you be one, too?
i scarcely dared to look
to see what it was i was
i gave a sidelong glance
–i couldn’t look any higher–
at shadowy gray knees
trousers and skirts and boots
and different pairs of hands
lying under the lamps
i knew that nothing stranger
had ever happened, that nothing
stranger could ever happen

why should i be my aunt
or me, or anyone?
what similarities–
boots, hands, the family voice
i felt in my throat, or even
the national geographic
and those awful hanging br–sts–
held us all together
or made us all just one?
how–i didn’t know any
word for it–how “unlikely”. .
how had i come to be here
like them, and overhear
a cry of pain that could have
got loud and worse but hadn’t?
the waiting room was bright
and too hot. it was sliding
beneath a big black wave
another, and another

then i was back in it
the war was on. outside
in worcester, massachusetts
were night and slush and cold
and it was still the fifth
of february, 1918

- krgkgm

letras aleatórias

MAIS ACESSADOS