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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

Alison C. Rollins - original [sin]

       In ancient Greece, for all her heroes, for Medea    ...    water meant death.
       — Jesmyn Ward, 
Salvage the Bones


i poured a bowl of cereal,

threw the empty box in the

trash can. granddaddy pulled


the box from the trash,

poured the crumbs into a

bowl, then doused the sand


in milk. he looked down at the

bowl, murmuring about how

he had survived the depression. told


a story about asking for hot water

at colored diners, how he would

pour ketchup in cups to make soup.


this was how

i first learned i am







i would stand in the bathroom

with my mother. would ask her

why the water in the bowl was


red. she would tell me she

had eaten beets. i suppose

i was too young to learn


the truth, milkflowers

spill petals red.






in my catholic school of fish,

we took a beautifully wrapped box,

passed it around the class,


unwrapping it piece by piece.

afterwards it was cleverly

explained that the box is


a girl’s virginity


the gift we give our husbands.


& who wants a toy that has

already been opened? half

the joy is in untying the string.


this is how i was taught

that at my very core, i am






i met someone recently,

in an irish bar, who told me

it’s about knowing what i need.


he said later

what you need

is a wife.


that night i prayed to god for just a man

and not a man that trails the woe


& maybe this is why god serves me

wakes of milkman and tea cake


a lip service of sorts

at hand.





maybe this is how i end up

throwing good things away:





a little tiny baby



locked them all in flooding

house with tearful grin.


this is how you

come to know you are






at times i smell of rain,

blouse damp with the

cloud’s breast milk,


this stomach a

sloshing bowl of

watery swish.


i curse the phantom belly

moon, can still hear the

sound of  you in still water.


                            the wind begins to push

a heavy rain, drops spill from

every crevice of the flower.


& then suddenly,

the rain begins to pour.


it always all ways

asks for forgiveness.


a ghost kneels in me,

              asks to be spared.