REPETITIONS SECOND SERIES
The End of Dodoni II
The way the gods were tumbled no one knew where
to turn his eyes.
Sick people remained on their beds, alone and with
closed eyes.
Their socks rotted away in their shoes and the two
flowers in the glass.
The smart people adapted quickly. They wore their
Sunday cloths, they sauntered around the bazaar, they talked,
they bought and sold. They took it upon themselves to defend
the conqueror. They changed the street names, the names
of the temples — rushed replacements. Zeus and Dione
gave their places to Jesus and the Virgin. Theodosius finished
them all — the altars, the holy places and that huge tree
adorned with all those offerings.
Yet there are still some
(the best) who haven’t adapted. They still expect other, better
gods and people; they resent, protest, dream, hope. We,
the few (who think a little) gave up on such luxuries, even
gave up thinking; we plough our small field, sometimes
we, serene, almost secured, gaze at the clouds. One day,
deep in a ditch, we found that statuette striking with a staff
the iron vessels which
gave out oracular sounds. It touched us momentarily. We
wanted to hide it somewhere, but for what reason? Are we
to keep relics now? What if they find out? We left it there.
We threw a bit of soil over it. The dog was in a hurry to
smelled the tree. Big raindrops were already falling.
Libros Libertad 