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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

Carl Phillips - Anyone Who Had A Heart

I know a man who routinely asks

that I humiliate him. It’s sex, and it isn’t—

whatever. For him, it’s a need, the way

brutality can seem for so long a likely

answer, that

                            it becomes the answer—

a kindness, even, and I have always

been kind, for which reason it goes

against my nature to do what he says, but

there’s little in nature that won’t, with

enough training, change…

                                                   After it’s done,

if the weather’s good, we tour his garden:

heliotrope, evening primrose … Proximity’s

one thing, he likes to say, penetration

another, and I have learned that’s true,

though which is better depends: whose life?

what story? the relief

                                          of snowmelt,

or the flooded fields again? We go down

to the stables to visit the horses that,

when they were nothing, just shivering

foals still, he once asked me to give

names to. How long we’ve traveled,

he and I—more like

                                        drifted, really—and

how far. More black than all the sorrows

and joys put together that I can remember

when I try remembering, which I mostly don’t,

now the foals,

                             they’re stallions. Call out

Fanfare, Adoration. Like broken kings,

they lower their heads, then raise them.