They stand on earth

Auteur·e du carnet: 
Image : C. Laranjo, un téléphone et les souliers de Marithé au Nicaragua, Ometepe

J'étais allée trouver le coeur II
Ometepe, 8 janvier

 
She stands on earth
like it’s about to break
She says she’s very spiritual
and she says this with sad eyes
like it’s something to cry for
 
He stands on earth 
like it’s about to go to bed
and would need to be tucked in, kissed for the dreams
He stands on earth like it’s a child who needs to cared for
and he’s the only father left alive
 
She stands on earth like it’s something to be eaten for desert
She opens her mouth and closes her eyes and shivers, and ha’s, and hum’s
Her feet are widely spread in such an heavenly way
She wears her son’s shorts and leaves yoga when the songs have too many words
She likes her ice cream bold and her butter from France, freshly battered
She stands on earth like it’s a cashmere sweater, a field of lilacs.
 
He stands on earth like there’s a crack he should find there
To slip himself into.
His eyes live so close by they almost encounter
He could squeeze enough to fold into himself
Then his bald head would become a mark to step on
and the Spanish words he learned would come out of our feet
bueno – claro – puede
 
She stands of earth like it’s something to be understood, an enigma to be solved by deeply looking with her worried eyes
Sometimes she comes out of the sorrow
drops her hair and the task
then something flickers, a gentle smile a good laugh
and she’s back in the unknown again
her wary pupils silently sobbing
 
He stands on earth like it’s an only word
that we would need to trust
His footsteps plan breakfast while his arms are holding silence 
He doesn’t know a thing and laugh beautifully about it
 
She stands on earth like it’s molasses
Her tiny and strong body entering in and climbing out again and again
She’s a rock but her eyes are calling for the waves
 
He stands on earth like it needs to be kept hidden
He says thank you for your sharing and thank you for your smile
and he says this looking down
like maybe the ground holds my face
 
well
I hope it does
 
and in the morning when I wake up with the cry of a seashell
I can only pray I’m gentle enough to live under their soles.