Work Text:
There.
There, where women bring clay, and the bourgeoisie bring almonds.
And their hands are just as red when they wash them in the same canal.
There I am a pimp, stripping. I am a prostitute, dressing.
There I am pregnant. And I am infertile.
I watch as every fluid fills exactly half of a tray.
Everyone has the same right to bleed. For everyone has the same amount of blood to spill.
There, where I clutch my ribs, because I have lost so much myself.
There, where life means nothing.
And at the party, lions jump through a flaming hoop. As if to repay for their sins.
There, where men bring marble crystals, and the bourgeoisie grains of sand that fell and shattered against the sea.
There the wind is dry, and food is costly.
And everyone drinks from the same canal, for it alone flows with milk.
Everyone flees from the Sun to the same temple. To the same rocks and burning kale.
There, where women sell incense in a golden stream.
There, everyone has their own orgasm.
Everyone has their own sacrament.
There, every morning women are virgins again.
There, too, I am a mourner at a funeral, where behind the wall I hear singing.
The bars divide the cemetery in two.
As they divide people.
Every prayer sounds the same.
In every language in the world, I grieve.
There is my father, son, and brother.
They were the third missing person.
Together recorded on bourgeois reports.
As one.
So I return.
There, to the place where life means nothing.