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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

Edward Hirsch - Early Sunday Morning

I used to mock my father and his chums 
for getting up early on Sunday morning 
and drinking coffee at a local spot 
but now I’m one of those chumps.

No one cares about my old humiliations 
but they go on dragging through my sleep 
like a string of empty tin cans rattling 
behind an abandoned car.

It’s like this: just when you think 
you have forgotten that red-haired girl 
who left you stranded in a parking lot 
forty years ago, you wake up

early enough to see her disappearing 
around the corner of your dream 
on someone else’s motorcycle 
roaring onto the highway at sunrise.

And so now I’m sitting in a dimly lit 
café full of early morning risers 
where the windows are covered with soot 
and the coffee is warm and bitter.

Edward Hirsch - Branch Library

I wish I could find that skinny, long-beaked boy 
who perched in the branches of the old branch library. 

He spent the Sabbath flying between the wobbly stacks 
and the flimsy wooden tables on the second floor,   

pecking at nuts, nesting in broken spines, scratching 
notes under his own corner patch of sky. 

I'd give anything to find that birdy boy again 
bursting out into the dusky blue afternoon 

with his satchel of scrawls and scribbles, 
radiating heat, singing with joy.

Edward Hirsch - I Was Never Able To Pray

Wheel me down to the shore
where the lighthouse was abandoned
and the moon tolls in the rafters.

Let me hear the wind paging through the trees
and see the stars flaring out, one by one,
like the forgotten faces of the dead.

I was never able to pray,
but let me inscribe my name
in the book of waves

and then stare into the dome
of a sky that never ends
and see my voice sail into the night.