Sunday, 31 March 2013


Our sister does not talk she plays under the trees and collects the fallen leaves.
At home she put them in lines to dry afterwards they go in her book when the year ends the books are burn and she starts again.

Saturday, 30 March 2013

Welcome, they said.

Welcome, they said. The door opened, she entered the house. The kitchen looked old, the sofa in the reception a odd shade of pink. The bedroom, pale green, contained a wardrobe, drawer and a stern looking bed. There was no garden, just a small patio. She took it and moved the day after. She brought her books and clothing in a small bag.

She bought the parrot a week later. When it died, she scoured the ads for a taxidermist and got it stuffed. Nobody visited her and she did not visit anybody either. She wanted to forget everything and leave no trace. When the young man came to knock on her door, it was a surprise she let him in. He came out with a small bag and the parrot. She died a week later.

It was only at her death inquest that they discover that the young man was her grandchild, who had tracked her down. Her only son had left home when he was fourteen and she never heard from him again until that day. Fifty years had passed.




Friday, 29 March 2013

She visits

She visits the same park everyday. She sits on a bank, opens her handbag, fetches a cigarette and a lighter, smokes a pair of puff, disposes of the cigarette and then off she goes again. 
I have followed here ever since I saw her, at a distance, I do not want to frighten her yet. She wears the same black hat and does not look at anybody, just the birds and the clouds. Sometimes, she takes a photo and smiles a bit.

Thursday, 28 March 2013


Blue sky-she sits on a bench in the park. The birds dart from tree to tree, raucous bickering relishing.

She sits on a bench in the park. The clouds are gathering, she doesn't care.

She sits on a bench in the park. Her fate is sealed.




Wednesday, 27 March 2013

Tuesday, 26 March 2013


Today, she carved her skin once more; she said she wanted to have her say.
Mother soothed her to sleep and prayed the dream never to come again

Monday, 25 March 2013



Home is faraway,
 they speak the same language
 yet she refuses to understand 
they think she is crazy and weird

Sunday, 24 March 2013

The lake

The lake beckons, the birds loiter, she vomits in the bushes and prays

Saturday, 23 March 2013

The austere

the austere city shimmers under the spring sun, she sits on the bench to think

Friday, 22 March 2013


Mother wants a new coat, there is no money left,
 she cries a little
 and then returns to cleaning the new house

Thursday, 21 March 2013

The market

The market explodes with unknown fruits, she goes from stall to stall collecting, smelling, dreaming

Tuesday, 19 March 2013

We walk


We walk through the park
the leaves are falling
our sister shuffles and cannot smile anymore

In our

In our family nobody speaks, we glide accross our lives entombed in our silence

Monday, 18 March 2013

He sailed

He sailed from Marseilles in 19.. arrived in Buenos Aires 
                            sold eggs                                         made noodles 
                                                               went around the countryside in a wagon
                                  went up the river

 fell in love with a peasant girl who bore him three children 
                                                                      and then left.


Sunday, 17 March 2013


She feels happy for a moment: nobody knows her any more the lake looks placid she can start to forget



Saturday, 16 March 2013

The cold plate

The cold plate of food stares at us, we try to eat and are defeated at every turn Mother says
 we cannot leave the table until we clean our plates off.

 Our sister kicks out everything on the floor. Mother sighs lits a cigarrette, when she has finished
she gets up and puts it down burning the tablecloth.

 We look in awe at the heat eating up the cloth

Friday, 15 March 2013

The city



The city, nestled in the mountains, shines under the morning sun. A light fog shimmers. She walks around the neighbourhood, only the maids are out and about. Alone, she wanders forgetting her past.




Thursday, 14 March 2013


 The books pile: look at them, abandon them, turn around walk out, nothing is left from a previous life stripped bare, shuffle, ea,t shit, sleep the new country

Wednesday, 13 March 2013


Drought, red broken earth, a ramshackle house, a clothing line, a hole on fire,
the hand hovering -there is no time left


Tuesday, 12 March 2013


The monks sing gregorian chants.
She wakes up in a dime motel -the walls peeling- with somebody next to her.
The monks chanting at five o'clock in the morning: she gets up and listens.
She wishes the city did not exist

Monday, 11 March 2013


The radio in the background the tv in the background the washing machine in the background the turntable in the background our Mother in the middle weeping

Sunday, 10 March 2013



She walks towards the door: the bell is ringing
 she sits down on the stair and waits
 the sun sparkle through the window
 she cannot open the door