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

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