Shelter
About losing what once kept you safe
Shelter
Sometimes I think
about all the things I lost.
At some point
I went out on a limb
and on one of them I built
a small, well-lined shelter
to live in peace.
But branches break
and everything came down.
And now I’m here,
in the little patch of grass,
with the remains of the things
I kept in the house that fell.
And time passes.
And it’s true that cows fly.
And also that cats dream.
But you can’t turn time back.
That will be my quest.
The quest of the brave one forged in a poor neighborhood,
full of uneven songs, who rummages
in the vacant lot where others also buried their dreams.
It will be a matter of building my shelter again
among the trees
on the weakest branch
because the strong one didn’t hold.
This poem comes from the same place as my story The Turning House, and from the novel I'm working now.
...la fuerte no aguantó... no era fortaleza, era orgullo solamente, soberbia, diría yo. Un poema a los resistentes. Un canto a la fortaleza interior. Gracias, Adrián.