Routine Examination

I spend a great deal of time sitting on sofas.

Facing conversations that accuse me of being angular and impeded.

It seems I never had the right age.

I never overcame the moment of saying no,

Or was I able to keep the body distance which would ensure my safety.

You focus on me, you lose focus.

I would prefer that you could talk about someone other than me.

I even imagined an alternative dialogue,

Where all the cities of my multiples beginnings would come out to sing.

Such a frustrated attempt!

You reflect me, saturnal, alike all other mirrors.

Not even the nervous laughter works out as an alibi.

You see me as a serious one. The most serious of women!

All my gestures constricted by victorian corsets.

You speak to me about the accurate smoke of the ancient oracles.

On how I should slurp it in, and let it ascend on me.

Recover the origins of my name while searching for futile things.

However, for me, the search for pleasure is no futile endeavour.

I close the door while I recite you with the passionate fury of the psalms.

Recognizing those alien bodies, stuck on me as ruins

Moisturising my skin with the sugary freshness of the moss.

Today this memory doesn’t threaten or embarrass me.

There are people who forget and people who always remember.

I am one of those who likes to overpack before getting back on the road.