Fat ballerina

I have a tear
caught in the eyes
and abandoned poems
at the bottom of the drawer
between crepe ribbons,
mothballs, rose petals,
droughts
and mildew.
 
I have such old things
as mismatched scribbles:
Pieces of yellowed papers
and undated
numbers, accounts,
frayed collars,
cracked saucers.
 
So I have a taste
of time stuck in
papillae
and dull mornings
of clotted blood,
face marks,
scars and rust
in some cotton sweater.
 
I have an affection
hidden under the mattress,
an unknown passion,
ancient and subconscious,
which in this today becomes
the presence
then disappears
like a smoke
in front
of the mirror
of loneliness.
 
I want to feel whole
like the eternal truths
which touch me:
the picture of a life
in the fragments of memory,
moments of laughter,
moments of glory
on a big stage
to tell one
story.
 
 
PAR