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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

An Impression of Being Alive

All day we have watched the street shift

and careen, shed skin, refill, crest and yaw,

corrected our taste for oranges

packed by other hands from other places, bought

tokens of summer and the coming happiness —

we paused at the Korean romances:

A Tale of a Prince,

Over Rainbow,Tree of Heaven. And the corporate type

who went mad for a girl.

No prince arrived with a piece of fax.

You said Plainly, it’s all money and for-

nication, just like everywhere else. We smiled

at the notion of moon bases and hummed a tune

from the movie we figured

we were still living in.

 

All day the sun kept tangling and stumbling

among bright open windows while the shopgirls cheered on,

and the pavement singers, and those women

fingering black laces in Foreign Lane

and we lived in and out of restaurants, smoking nonstop,

 

plate after plate of consommé

not thinking or speaking, our nerves

shattered by the urge to depart. All day

we have waited and waited

under heaven’s wide and lovely tree

for princes, advisors,

even some flannel postman to come and say

that the ship’s sailed, the bus

has left, all families look for us.

Have we said too much? Or not enough –

 

And here we are, the day gone

to its usual brilliant bedtime, the astronauts gone, the rain

now cadencing in our heads. The restaurant must close.

We have learned nothing. You wisely add: Really,

there was nothing to learn.


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