she was weaving a story
it felt
good but the weft threads were shaking
memories were
interrupting the most beautiful dreams and
awakening
a sense of dizziness
Archives par mot-clé : black and white
ancestors
they imagined the sky
they chiseled the clouds
imitating the waves
they lived each and everry day somebody else’s voice
I close my eyes to listen to my roots, the roof over my head an illusion that did not hold up, I would take somebody else’s voice to fill the guest card and then lay down, exhausted, in my dark stories.
poetry day
looking for (something)
finding (it)
crossing (it) out
reformulating (it)
doing (it) again
finding (it sometimes) out of the corner of the eye
following out of the corner of the eye, pretending that it is just following the flow of the water