I watched her dig her own grave
without ever moving a finger
watched her envy flights of birds
her body that had long put itself to rest
I loved
met, looked for and recuperated
from ancestral trenches
abandoned cribs
I picked her up
blind to her surroundings
but she’d never be whole
she’d never be able to stay
a girl so tired
grown old in a body that she had said goodbye to a thousand times
and her father would wait for her at an invisible door
and her eyes would blacken and come back from the dead
for a sip of Coke
but to me, her eyes had always been so porcelain blue
how could someone with a smile like that
be so tired of life
I wouldn’t be able to bring her back anymore
her hair stuck in a brush
the talc sachet half-full
the reading glasses would never reach the end of the story
and yet
Croque-Melpomene 