sexta-feira, 6 de março de 2015



“Do you want to see an owl?  It is behind the mirror”, I ask my mother. But she does not want to see it. It is a lovely, small white owl…looking right at us.
Serving tea. The maid Zeca sets the table with nine places, ready for tea.  Tiny beije saucers. The cold cuts, the cakes and coffee are not in. I go back to the kitchen thinking I might help her. The cold cuts are neatly all there, inside the fridge. I go looking for her and she is ironing clothes. So I and the man served ourselves from the table set.

Then I go blind. My vision goes black and white, and slowly a veil descends. I lose my vision, like a shade being pulled down. So I become like all the others. Because before I was the only one who saw.
This afternoon, in the snow, I glimpsed a large bird in flight, white and speckled underneath.  It felt to me like it was an owl…

March 6, 2015

 Glossing over

Silly romantic notions
that my depression will lift like a cloud.
That all will be better tomorrow,
after a good night’s sleep.
That all will work out,
like in the gyms. 

As expected,
all will remain the same,
all limbs will become slim,
all slim limbs will fatten up,
all eye sights will improve,
once I learn to be blind.
January 2006

quinta-feira, 5 de março de 2015