to Mairym Cruz Bernall
for your Tuesdays
You refused to die another Tuesday;
the letters of your name give away tears
and silence pronounces the word love,
And why die?
Other lips can build that mosaic for desire,
or a room for the forgotten calendars,
and I can help you turn the page,
the poem is a landscape in our hands’ company.
You are not alone,
you are the scent of the moon,
and I, of the sand.
I am your shadow even between shared sheets
or even in a Saturday morning breakfast
when the house dances between your hairs
And you decide that you will not die
that next Tuesday will be wednesdayed
you will have the ring of the night
maybe, solitude will no longer enter your name
there are no tears,
dress them up as footsteps,
now, I can sleep,
you wake up
silence is revealed….
Ana María Fuster