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maria negroni/ tr. anne twitty
...in this constant skirting of edges, is that where I must look for you? in a brown nipple, the sumptuosity of your polkadot dress, tepid deflection? in the noes, in the yes buts, the time of your hand in a cast, the sleep cures? before? after? in your other daughter, the bedstead, the cemetery of an icy dining room, ampicyllin? here? inside? in this howling of abandoned hordes? vengeful?
...repetition--the mother is heard to say--has a certain charm but is inappropriate. When you speak of me, sieve, file down, round out and then eliminate the pointée expression (on your face or mine). Like someone reviewing dreams aloud, forget me, or, at worst, turn distortion into a destiny, the mourning of images into a task. On the road to the uncertain, to err is a mistake. The most beautiful thing in life is the fade to black...
ah if I could make this ephemeral a
peroration of caresses (something that would not be style only style)
Maria Negroni, LA JAULA BAJO EL TRAPO/CAGE UNDER COVER |
