I invented you when

I was travelling into the trees.

The lilies bent as I filled my arms

with red roses, breathing my hopes,

embroidering the future.

I invented you when the moonlight

blessed me.

Hung in the Milky Way

I was sewing the shy morning,

I was weaving your silky soul out of aloe vera

and lavender: the oils of my dreams.

This mystery I tattooed under

my skin, my honeyed moment of beauty.

Barefoot, I was wild,

I was an empress for a second.

I was almost perfect.

Now I am nothing forever.

I can’t reinvent myself.

I can’t recycle the past.

The wind blew my pink candle.

Nothing glows in me.

The delicacy was lost.

(So shall it be)

Karla Bardanza

1 comment:

  1. This is very sad to me. To value yourself as having no meaning because you cannot relive old dreams, or feel to reinvent yourself to get them back. Very sad. I see the pink candle as all hope blown out for good. Yet you are a princess perfectly barefoot in the field of flowers. This alone shows you have a fragrance you just don't know. You can't see it for you are too close to the forest to see the trees. tc