the sanatorium

and if I visited the sanatorium and met you there
as a visitor
a paying guest
I might say that I had come to take the air
and was not sick at all
just not feeling quite at my best
but the truth is I am riven through
and while each one of you
might shortly pack your bags and leave
I must stay on indefinitely

but this is only supposition
there is no one to meet
and no sanatorium
just the window and the city street

but my stay
it seems
remains indefinite

White Gull

A white gull wails
on a windy beach
some place in time,
if you can call it a beach,
I wouldn’t call it a beach,
I’d call it:

Broken stones
on the earth’s bare bones
with icy breakers
that have no home,
black icy breakers
on a broken beach,
so bruised and broken,
bruised and broken.

A white gull wails
inside this room,
it hovers low,
its shadow looms,
this bare white room,
this lonely room.
so bruised and broken,
bruised and broken.

c. Pilar Echeverria |