Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Mornings on the Ground, Rosa Alice Branco
To accept the day. What will come.
To pass through more streets than houses,
more people than streets. To pass through
skin to the other side. While I make
and unmake the day. Your heart
sleeps with me. It wraps me up at night
and the mornings are cold when I get up.
And I’m always asking where you are and why
the streets no longer are rivers. At times
a drop of water falls to the ground
as if it were a tear. At times
there isn’t ground enough to soak it up.
translated by Alexis Levitin
(New European Poets, Miller & Prufer, eds)
“No one respects the flame quite like the fool who’s badly burned.”
“It’s superb to be out in the early, early morning before the sun comes up. There’s this sense of being super-alive. You’re in on a secret that all the dull, sleeping people don’t know about. Unlike them, you’re alert and aware of existing right here in this precise moment between what happened and what’s going to happen.”
― Tim Tharp, The Spectacular Now
After her owner died during the landslides in Rio de Janeiro in 2011, Leao sat by the grave for two consecutive days.
“It’s hard to let go. Even when what you’re holding onto is full of thorns, it’s hard to let go. Maybe especially then.”