What Dwells in the Shadow
Hauntings of the night
In the fleeting gloom of the corridors
hauntings watch me
and in the silence
they stir in foolish ways
In him dwells a girl, a young woman
an Eve and a Lilith
prisoners under the ceiling coexist
and through the veil behind my eyes
they whisper sins in immoral ways
There are so many women in me who can’t rest in peace!
I wake up to the now and live
I pretend to watch life
I waste my time joking that I exist
and meanwhile
my women wait
something that has been dead in me for a long time
Your voices
tell me
not to be afraid
of the creaking door
Your voices
tell me
not to sleep
with the lights on
Your voices
teach me
not to fear
loneliness
The words run through me
while the coffee table is still empty
and there are no more reasons for poetry
While I stare in the dark at portraits, mirrors
I confront the verses I don’t write
I come face to face with the women who inhabit me
and I ask them
What’s on my fingertips?
What would I be without fear?
What is the motive behind these banal talks?
The wind hits the door
I’m frightened and shiver unashamedly
pretending not to hear them anymore
It’s in the momentary darkness of the corridors
that my hauntings exist
and won’t leave me in peace
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— Isabella Luiz is a writer, prolix, redundant and Brazilian. She has poetry in collections published in Brazil and Portugal and a mediocre book in progress. Follow me on Medium for more stories.
