Monday, April 26, 2010

Eunice Odio


Mother solitude


She’s very deep by day

and very quiet by night.
Because at night
mother solitude
runs imperfectly through the walls

that transform her
from a lonely, irradiant mother
to a naked one in the shape of gold.


I had not seen you, rosebush;

but one day, in the afternoon,
I knew there was a rose
in your depth

falling from itself,
and her petals shed swiftly
the small closeness of doves.

Mother solitude

held tight between her whistling
the reverse side of a flower.

I dreamed I was dreaming.


Listen to this silence

It is an anchored silence

it is the slope of the rose
it is the sleeping crease of angels.

Listen to this silence
that sticks to your flesh

It is a passing of smoke at your side

Mother solitude surrenders by the woods’ edge,
by the dreams of the Sun
by the ranks of the flowers.

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