Tell me a story,
tell me everything about your days,
the ones that had you laughing into the
never ending, hazy sunsets,
the nights that tore your soul to pieces,
only to leave you void and alone in the
decaying moonlight.
Tell me, please. I would love to just know,
every single idiosyncrasy that
defined your being.
Whisper it shyly if you must,
into the fridgid Winter air that
bites briskly at my cheeks,
in the hollowness that reverberates off
of this desolate city’s streets,
while everyone tucks in early.
Speak slowly, please,
through the melting ice, dripping
onto the pavement while you
help awaken Spring.
Sing a simple song through the
birds rediscovering life,
mutter a word in the commotion
of a typical weekday commute,
plant the seeds of memories,
to bloom in Summer heat
and unnoticeably appear to me.

The emerald stones embroidered into this pouch glitter
by the light of the flames that engulf this city
a baby shoe, tied in a bag of silk
hangs delicately round my neck
my pendant to bring me back to you one day
the sanctified emblem of hope:
el zapato de bebé de una niña robada
a locket, the other half of which you carry
my two identities lost in a crusade de fuego y sogas
One, the baby taken
The other a woman stolen
Mort à la pute! une sorcière! le gitan doit mourir.
my sentence carried out as you watch
just moments after we reunite again
only to have to say Dja devlesa!
My face lit by the burning cathedral
Then slackened by the tightening rope.