House Change
The dead old woman’s clothes still hung in the big
closet; a deep violet, a distant yellow. The whole house
was filled with secret prohibitions, statuettes, furniture,
and doors: a thimble rolled down the stairs ringing in an unsuitable
rhythm: water, before it filled the glass was already warm. The
servants had suddenly grown tall as if looking at the ceiling.
At dusk
they’d all leave on release. When they’d get back, in the night,
they’d look haughtily from the door. Around their buttons and
their ears,
they had small, crystallized circles of healthy air. You wouldn’t
dare ask for anything. The shortest phrase had to be between
two “please”. No one spoke. Words rotted in the mouths of
children, women, and old men. With the thuds of unclean knives,
they were forging silence in the hallway.
Libros Libertad 