I want the life of a dog,
the cosiness of a cat,
the courage of a lion,
and a panther's shiny hair.
I want to be tall like a moose
and adorable like a brown bear.
Tiny like a fly, strong like an ant,
I don't wanna be a man.
I wanna be an animal and loved by this woman
in her sixties, far from death (I can only hope)
and far from the idiocy of youth,
for I don't wanna be loved by someone irresponsible, see?
Wise and grey-haired,
unafraid to care: my best version of me.
I want to be loud like a hyena
and clever like an octopus,
I wanna turn my head around like an owl,
crazy, dancing like a seahorse.
Hold your hands like an otter.
But sometimes I just wanna be alone.
Most of the time, I just wanna be alone.
I wanna be alone like a sandpiper
but be with you when you get home,
and care about you like an elephant,
intertwined like Atlantic puffins,
but then back to my shell again.
Apr 30
Apr 30, 2026 at 4:54 AM UTC
I spend my days lying down,
that being the bed, a chair, or the couch,
because money is important,
because I am an Earth stellium,
because I need to feel comfort.
From the autumnal yard in a rainy October,
I had a Gizmo, a cup of coffee, and a cigarette.
A senior professional, mind you,
smoking and crying, toothless and poor.
For I lack fire signs, being no one’s threat,
keeping it all inside while awfully sober.
From the autumnal yard in a rainy October,
I have those I love less than a kilometre away,
my sister in Christ, and a new home with my man.
He is also an Earth stellium and reads me like a book,
eats me like a pastry, drinks me like soup.
From the newly rainy apartment in a rented October,
I was walking on eggshells, crying for help.
“You’re on your own, kid” as his whelp coiled in sadness;
no change from his end, no surprises for me.
Once, in a hospital bed, he declared,
“My life will move on four months after you’re gone,”
he was not joking about it, a man of his word!
A father to many, a memory blurred.
Apr 29
Apr 29, 2026 at 3:55 PM UTC
I
Father could only pray that fathering lasted 216 months,
no duties and obligations, never to return.
On the 217th month, his manumission papers would arrive
by mail or online. Mom? Couldn’t bear to live.
But life, or the god he so much believes in
had other plans for him,
an unemployed child who writes and
a schizophrenic one who loves to sleep.
Don’t tease me, wondering which offspring I am,
for the voices in my head are manageable & sane.
And my brother still thinks I killed our mom,
he told me this last August, without a qualm.
II
On a winter afternoon, back in São Paulo,
my mom ate me with her hooded eyes and said
“Farewell, I love you, but my time is up. One day you will understand.”
We had Frida Kahlo’s movie on, and I never saw mom again.
The jailbird kept leaving to work and do charity,
he dated all wandering souls; he banned
my silly brother and me from his life,
following mom’s path, busy with his arts and crafts.
The immaculate prisoner threw all her memories away,
even if those two liabilities were sad — us —,
even if it had been only a day, he couldn’t wait.
Off with the memories, he was almost free.
III
My beloved and unbalanced younger brother,
who’s actually two years older,
had planned to reunite mom and me, he said
“Prepare to hug the witch in hell!”
He acted upon it, but I’m Machiavel, so
he ended up moving in with nonna, and I ended up alone.
I know he should, perhaps, be in jail
but we already have a jailbird in this poem, don’t we?
I excused myself from the scene, tired of being the snotter
while the jailbird still plays family with what is left of that poor soul…
As for me, far-off and trying to be kind and whole,
am proudly known as the ungrateful daughter.
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 4:54 PM UTC