I take care of It every day
moving It around the house
and making It sit still in silly poses.
In the morning I clean the skull
with a mop
shining and shining.
I carry It from the bedroom
to the library
to the kitchen
and then I let It in the living room with all the other guests:
A lazy cat bathing in the sunbeams.
The ghost of a dog who barks at the passing times.
A renegade bird who just chirps to let know the world that there is injustices.
I think that they have long chats when I’m not there
working trying to fit.
I couldn’t say,
after all I can’t speak the language of the gone.
If I remember
remember to have lunch,
I would like to invite It to site across the table
I don’t like to eat alone
the silence tends to ferment the thoughts
and I prefer to accompany my meals with water
It’s better for the body.
In the afternoons I would sit with them in the living room
to share the coffee and some of my worries.
They listen
and that’s the only thing I would ever ask from them.
In the night when I remember
remember to sleep
I took It to the bedroom
and carefully laid down the fragile bones.
I use cotton sheets to cover It.
I also laid there,
cautious to not disturb It,
I make myself small to fit between the ribs,
and there I would wonder
how the next day it’s going to be
and when was the last time that I lived
with someone who doesn’t make me carry them around.
