Travelers Welcome

Travelers Welcome

Tuesday, June 21, 2011


by Anahí Arana

I think of her always
Of being child, of still being child
Of sheets, red, brown, green, patterned, the squares on the ceiling, counting across
The poster, the dead woman who no longer sings
She is alive and there, I see her there
Not at home anymore because we’re all gone.

I never saw the empty house but I see it now in my dreams
I feel the breeze, I open the window and close it in my dreams
I see the green, I see the white, the little flowers growing down the wall
Her nuzzling against it, smiling, I swear she is smiling
The door shuts fast and loud.

What a breezy day that makes so much nice noise
I don’t want to do anything but hear that noise, the silent one that dead one the one that knows it’s being listened to
God I think I remember being held
I think I remember her breath

I think I remember it but
We all went away
I cry now and I cried then and I don’t think I’ll ever not cry
It’s much too hard not to cry
But I remember the tree and the pears we never ate
And falling down and bleeding and getting up and showing her my--

I have two scars
I am the other one
She is my true love the only thing I understand by love
Everything else is love too
Love too

Holding her hand
I think of her too often
I remember her everyday
Today I didn’t speak with her
Because I have too little to say.

1 comment:

  1. A beautiful poem, that I undestand too well.