Drinks in hand, Director with lives in his as well. Gestor, hopes and dreams in his- And they fly everywhere- An effort at transferring these intangible tangibilities Into our hands, into the director’s. Young man, bright looking- So much responsibility. Eco-hotel. Tourists. Sips. Stories. Of a land that rejected those who had left it. Somos amigos. Aqui sabemos vivir con riesgo.
Tag: poem
fika vontaji
Sometimes I wonder what it means to be a woman, sheng’* speaking, running around the world (often enough that I thought to write the poem below {about Brazilian/Paulista hospitality} within my first days of being in São Paulo but didn’t, unfortunately- for the poem). The question of what language to use when I write is one that is constantly on my heart and mind (see here) but more about that…
doubts
Why didn’t I go to Colombia? Pués, who knows?! But right here is where I’m supposed to be. Right here is where I ill begin to fashion the world I want to be.
what do you do?
What do you do, When you don’t know what to do? Do you write? Do you speak? Do you shout? Do you run? – where to; and will they follow you? What do you do when you get so angry, that you don’t know whether to sit or stand, to cry or to laugh- maniacally? What do you hold on to, when you wonder about your powerlessness- and the power…
spectacle
Feria de libros. It starts to pour, and feet pour into the stands, Feet attached to eyes, that will look more keenly at books displayed- that is what they came to do after all- and that will look at me seated here, wondering any multitude of things. At the feria de libros- a spectacle.
they made the rocks…
They made the rocks burst with life, where there had been little before.