Daughter of the Mountain


I grabbed the key he didn’t want to give me. I went inside

to tidy his room which smelled of cypress, manliness

and bee wax. I opened the window, shook off his blankets;

the wind and the sunshine got inside, pushed me two steps

over; I put his shirt on my chest to go and wash it. His

violin and his shotgun were hanging on the wall. Since

then one pass of the bow breaks my heart and I have two

shots on my left cheek, aren’t they visible? Since then

he hasn’t talked to me as if I saw him naked. However,

his dog recognizes me from the smell, follows me from

two meters away, then leaves me, what can it say?

               It doesn’t pander it.

There are tall plane trees in both sides of the road.