Near The Window
Near the window sits the girl
who watches the hands of travelers stealthily
as she rides the bus.
She reads for Danielle Steele about blue eyes and
listens to Ludovico Einaudi’s music.
Near the window, she drinks mineral water
and tries to forget her weak heart.
She writes about the trembling unrelated to winter
and looks up, whispering: “Everything is caused by the stars.”
Nothing returns as it was; she writes on the wall
then goes out with her family,
and above them a sad moon bends.
She climbs into the car, her stomach sticking to her back,
deliberately forgetting to put on her heavy shoes
and thinking about how the names of things don’t change
our perception of them!
Near the window, she sits wearing her purple socks
and her pink pajamas as she
slowly resigns from this world.
She used to count the days of the week on her fingers
so she wouldn’t kill herself.
She goes to the city every Saturday,
teaches foreign language to children,
argues with herself, then goes back to sleep,
and when the holiday comes, she asks God: “Do you want to pin me by my throat with a silver pin?”
Near the window sits the girl Whose
eyebrows are miserable and her laughter is cinematic
as her friends say, her eyelashes flutter
like soft light and the scent of love pierces her skin.
“I want to hold your hand because my heart is not well.
I want to leave you the smell of my body.”
This is what the girl with her small brown forehead
said to her friend “J”.
She loved white sheets, gray eyes, old windows,
and to be left alone like wheat for the birds.
Her hat was worn out and her nails broken.
She puffs cigarette smoke and is never without
traces of eyeliner and bad pencils.
Near the window sits the girl who goes up the sky
like the gypsies travel and screams every morning:
“Dear life, leave me alone.”
