Ennio Montariello
I still don’t
know
who you are
or if you are
something
aching between
9-5 as you
bite your lips
waiting for
the same insane bus.
We both are
too old
to evolve
and turn into butterflies:
our hands
and stains would denounce
our lack of
perception and sensory awareness.
Simple things
don’t electrify us
anymore; we
are too busy paying bills,
counting the
money we don’t have,
riding other paranoias.
We are
strange beings.
I can’t
find where your old poetic notebooks
are hidden.
You used to like rhymed poetry,
high heel
shoes and make up.
We are on
the periphery of ourselves,
resigned to
what I dare not to say
because it
hurts so much to be less
than we
once were.
I have been
thinking
we are
nature’s mistakes,
maybe we
are like two dizzy moons,
failing to
distinguish the east from the west.
Our apparent
motion knows no apogee or perigee.
What have
we become after all these years?
Just wax
figures in sealed honeycomb
with a thin
layer of hope , my friend?
We used to
burst through a D major.
It is sad
to see our tight strings out of tune.
I feel for
us.
Who stole
our voices and small miracles?
When did we
start to stare at our own photos for hours?
Karla
Bardanza
For Katia
Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2012
I felt like that once when I was towards the end of my job. I thought what was the point? And then a voice said "just quit"... and in that moment nothing else mattered but being free... I had to cut loose. I did and I paid the price. It is the price of uncertainty and having nothing that keeps us in the same drudgery. We believe the lie that our voices are silenced, that we dont' matter anymore. Courage is the key to making change and believing in yourself to make it happen. And I feel for those stuck in limbo....
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