Updated: May 28
“I have to trust what was given to me if I am to trust anything.” Gift. S.W. Merwin.
I have the world in my ear,
centuries of gaze.
When I look you in the eye,
I am searching for your ancestors.
I am talking to mine.
I owe my explanations only to the unbound winds,
the giving ebbs.
To Earth who bares without judgement
to the ever-present- shadow behind the moon
when it brings the graces of Poiesis to the doors,
to Sirius, the dog star…
You are not following,
-All personal time diminishes-
so I ask,
who are you to place me,
to judge me,
make me known or unknown.
I am the owner of my words.
The wielder of their combustion
when by the tip of my fingers am pushed out of their womb.
You cannot change me,
I am the mother of the buzzards that come in the night,
only I can turn them into hummingbirds.
I cannot not give you my ear, silent bird,
lacking a syrinx*,
you are incapable of song.
©lidice megla, Nanaimo, 2018. (After the publication of Tú la Bestia)
*syrinx: (from Greek for pan pipes) Vocal organ of birds.
La Guardiana del huevo negro. Leonor Finni