Not to forget where I come from
Not to forget where I come I put in the way of bread crumbs and white sugar. I followed my
go looking ahead, looking beyond, wanting, and not listen to reason, does not mean the end of not trying. I left
chairs in stores, washing socks, watches on tables, books on the sofa, note on the door, keys in the mailbox.
I received as a gift a collection of lives that I can not find, mugs with your name, I launched wedding rings, I have seen the departure of my life jacket of a swan, and I cried with tears.
I lost a dog, a cat, I found the bike in the country, the car in the parking lot, the jacket in the closet.
not find half of my pair of shoes, a pearl earring, but I own more than one, not mine.
I lost hope many times, a dozen friends, cherish the memory sparing of my childhood friend that I can not call.
sleep alone I never leave my bear.
collect in boxes of family photos, phone numbers in address books of people who do not remember.
Porto ankles grooves, holes in the sternum, ceremonial drums, nail beds spellacchiati, tablecloths round, but I cut my new clothes.
underline sentences in books with which he surrounded my bed. I did
Canopies with handles of sickles left, I remember tents underwear long. I gladly accept
wooden boats without pens, as long as different, even though I keep dry colors, letters of past loves, pillow covers with initials of others.
not find, but I know there are videos of me with my father, child, both not seen, and faded color photos with his arms wrapped around wet moraines.
pick up broken glass blasted from the sea, presumed primitive pottery, berry silk cocoons, pictures of the heavens and the attack of the wings of angels, wooden and old.
dark windows, irons, lever handles, door hinges and houses for bees.
I keep in the garden exhibits of tools, sinks found, uplifted roof tiles, bricks clean.
I can not forget the roll wire left in the attic in the house where I lived for foreign and table piled with trunks in the habit of Bulgarian Matrioska, warehouse and light for America.
But I forget words, names, key dates and important announcements. The numbers, however, as I remember them all due to the fact that combinations are possible from zero to ten, but does not distinguish the order and succession.
I missed the plane, train, boat and my bike was stolen.
left to dry flowers in pots, brushes in color, trowel in cement.
I can not see distant friends, the film all the way, the needles on the skin but I learned to appreciate the snakes as long away from water.
I'm waiting for return the swallows under my porch, my house runs out on its own, but that the hedge hiding from the neighbors.
Of all that I had much I have lost, left behind, forgotten, performed or it was stolen.
not grow for years, in height, yet it seems at times to see farther.
still makes me want to go so I turn in bed at night, at least now I can sleep and I lost things in the dream but I feel that girls past have hidden under the bed, the snow and then found only a salt lake. Recently
collect and drop seeds and acorns from the flowers that grow trees. Impress
footprints in the ground wet hands, move stones from the river bed, sacred to his country, to the borders between street and garden.
I find myself among the other girl but I do not like the smell in the street where I played even the shadow of the trees remained. The name change
I erased the traces of me so I have an excuse why do not you recognize me as I was.
I have collected and brought me everything I could and managed to collect, that when something fell from his hands filled with wonder to myself why I had not heard the noise.
Now I'm on a mountain of things that I know the value of money but out of order. So are lots of old
ducats, carved shells from the sea, sun-faded manuscripts, tapes of loud buzz.
And I'm still calling from what I have not managed to bring with me, and I wonder why if only with a photo I have not kept.
I could, if they knew the secret, but mend ties Pizzos Building Relationships finished a game that is not forbidden to me.
So I am, and I look a bit ', of being unearthed, I spun around at the window sitting down when I pass someone who does not know how to stop.
I see or imagine to see, in the eyes behind the high school, and family friendly faces, and I feel well hidden for a time not mine.
And I would, but I do not know how to do
pay me a try.
Cristina Alaimo
June 16, 2010
