Warmth
…We don’t know where they buried our father. If we had some
oil we could light the oil lamp. That’s okay, though. It’s better.
Darkness helps. The faces of the alive and those of the
dead look like darkness. We won’t notice the little chain
missing from your neck. It’s better.
Do you remember that morning? A foreign ship was entering
the harbour.
The foreign captain on the bridge took off his hat and waved
to the Greek fishing boats, our cruising boats which sailed off
to Salamina, Paros and Aegina.
We waved too; we spelled the foreign language letters
on the wide side of the ship as if we read the word
I love you
in our first love letter. We waved with both hands.
The world is so nice, my love. The ship must had been from
Holland, we could say that the world was ours.
The light-blue hat of the captain was like a spring moon
washed up by all the seas. And his binoculars must had been
on the table of the cabin.
All the small round landscapes were sleeping in the binoculars;
landscapes from around the world, like engraved gold coins
you could use to buy bread for your house, candy for the children
and for you a straw hat with flowers and cherries so the sun
wouldn’t ravage your delicate face.
Libros Libertad 