Read Poem: 274, by Mónica Martz 

I fly over the white big house,
ten miles from the wood floor,
flying naked, flying true, feeling blue.
I ask myself why was this house taken,
tough i was a little girl when i left it,
¿what happened to the big Elm tree?
¿who will embrace it?.
And those big windows
sacred mirrors,
they opened my perception to other worlds,
ghosts, flying objects, and six head dogs,
and the red piano playing Chopin
Nocturne no 11 .
My friends came at night,
and sleep over the brown carpet,
we would smoke and burned it,
orange holes,
where the worms from the garden came by,
and eat cookie crumbles,
they’ll keep quiet ,
they knew the red wine piano concert would begin,
and not even the ring of my mother´s bell
would stop it.
I kept flying,
the wind brought sentimental colors,
whispering yellow ,
craving red,
and my father’s favorite blue.
I saw the fig three,
it has grown so big and healthy,
i could taste the sap without touching it,
it has a different flavor,
like sunday morning in the dinning room,
like Christmas candles burning with apple salad,
like ping pong table full of dishes.
The armadillo who stole the most succulent figs,
smiled at me,
he would knock at my window every October night,
with his pointy fingers,
and watched full moon together,
there was nobody at home then,
just Angela.
Angela, my sweet dark hair angel,
she would stay at night,
watching me sleep,
bitting her nails, and then spitting them out.
One day she left,
and I still can smell her pink sweater,
the calmed warp of my childhood was gone.
I saw a Halloween costume,
running trough the hall,
playing hide and seek,
laughing and yelling,
to an empty suitcase.
who is he, i tought?.
Oh! my brother,
who after twenty years ,
still wears that costume.
But the house was big enough to expand small bubbles of soap
Into big conciousness.
And I kept flying,
it started raining;
i felt the fresh smell of pottery,
a calming lavender tea,
for my illumination shadow trip.
Trough the silent wind and my wet wings;
I could saw a cone head boy,
surrounded by a circle made of toy cars,
record player in silence,
and beautifull curly red hair,
that’s the way I want to remember him,
He, and his big smile,
playing darts in his balcony,leaving home at seventeen,
cocaine teenager.
Wait! no,he was my caring brother, we used to play,
(i’m lying)
We all reunited in the kitchen, french toast for dinner,
TV on, and dogs barking at the door.
The unicorn I used to talk as a child,
is the moderator for dinner arguments.
I saw myself sitting at the table,
I looked so calmed,
renewed,
everything seemed to pass by so slowly,
I only watched, and breath,
gently breath,
no more shields.
I´m a woman now, golden flesh,
bubble bath at night, and red wine in an elegant shrine.
And You:
you came by like a true road with no questions,
day by day,
soul landscape,
new, gentle and strong,
like the singing of the crickets at night
and the transparent glass of joy.

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Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film.

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