Strategic Position
I had met a Tamarix
It was a majestic happy green
by the sea
I’ve been sitting, sharing my troubles many times with it
caressing its rough, well-lived/wise trunk
I would leave to its rustling branches
all I didn’t tell anyone
Before going back to the city we would embrace, bid farewell
So long until next summer we would say The next summer I came to the sea
there was an emptiness
First I didn’t understand what was missing
When I saw my Tamarix
pruned by the middle
So that it won’t cut the sea view It didn’t want to be seen by me the Tamarix didn’t let me touch
itself because when it didn’t have any branches left
its trunk filled with leaves and
its beautiful branches above were now sad/disconsolate
yellow limbs
They loved the sea so much that they sacrificed its tree
If you are to own something the rest is an obstacle
If your strategic position is wrong
They will make you pay the price
How would the tamarix know all this To love is such a weird a painful word I am standing where the sea begins
The sand is wet and thick
It takes the shape of my sole where I step
But at this zero level of the sea
No trace is permanent
It will erase me in one coquettish movement I am from a city where
people leave horseshoe traces on each other’s faces
Right at our hands we all have ice
bags and cell renewal creams
Nights go by caressing those traces
Days are hiding them
We call a mass lie new truth
Hypocrisy is gaining legitimacy Always a sense of loss, of being diminished
exists. As if some of your things
were stolen, you had no idea
The more you didn’t put a name on it you lost part of yourself
Giant loves diminished into matryoshka dolls
Since when is the “You’re like everyone else now” mould
enough for the ones you love
The rest is always the same loss of altitude