Illustration for the last issue N16 of Firewords Magazine
illustrating a poem by Clara Dunn.
_______________________________________________________
_______________________________________________________
Ilustración para el último número N°16 de Firewords Magazine
ilustrando un poema de Clara Dunn.
ilustrando un poema de Clara Dunn.
My character - who is me,
only with surgical wounds -
looks out of her pages
to ask me why.
I tell her she has to show me how to survive.
She - who is me,
only steeped in thicker darkness -
flinches at her boyfriend’s
gentle hands
and flashes me hard eyes.
I tell her: my counsellor says
the only cure for stolen trust
is time.
Though she also recommends exposure -
dip your toes in the shark tank.
I tell my character
to spit the bitter seed
and ask her to crack her ribs again
until all my aches and daydreams
take root. To go on breathing
until poppies and sunflowers
bloom in place of the bones
of the girls we both used to be.
My character - who is me,
only a survivor of a Criminal Minds story -
tells me that pity is empathy’s mean cousin
and politely asks that I stop writing
how she used to love the man who hurt her.
I tell her that I heard a rumour
that you can have love without fear
and bruising.
She laughs, even though she, too,
suspects that it’s true.
only with surgical wounds -
looks out of her pages
to ask me why.
I tell her she has to show me how to survive.
She - who is me,
only steeped in thicker darkness -
flinches at her boyfriend’s
gentle hands
and flashes me hard eyes.
I tell her: my counsellor says
the only cure for stolen trust
is time.
Though she also recommends exposure -
dip your toes in the shark tank.
I tell my character
to spit the bitter seed
and ask her to crack her ribs again
until all my aches and daydreams
take root. To go on breathing
until poppies and sunflowers
bloom in place of the bones
of the girls we both used to be.
My character - who is me,
only a survivor of a Criminal Minds story -
tells me that pity is empathy’s mean cousin
and politely asks that I stop writing
how she used to love the man who hurt her.
I tell her that I heard a rumour
that you can have love without fear
and bruising.
She laughs, even though she, too,
suspects that it’s true.