Sofía Ramírez

The Dream of Water

The girl on the verge of tears hides her hands cracked from the cold. Months and years have passed since she had lost her childhood. The girl cries, turns into a turtle, and hides among the stones. Slowly, she crossed two floods until she turned upside down. Floating face up, she spent nights and three weeks in the sun. Little by little, she merged into the mud. She arrived at the river with her armor. In the mirror of water she looked at her greenish complexion and cried again. Now she amuses herself carrying fish on her belly.

The girl hides her hands cracked from the cold and drinks a bit of water.

God's Dream

That day God preferred sleeping.

I watched daisies grow in the roots of my hair and pigeons fly in my stomach. I listened to my mother pray on the edge of dusk and discovered that my father could sing.

A cloud disappeared into my eyes and my hands led me to the rain.

That day I hung around with the caterpillars and dropped my wings. I was grass and smoke, light and water. My fingers disappeared and a bit of sugar covered my face. I was a girl and wore blue for man's sorrows. By the minute I became a shadow, a pain, and a clay bird. I also turned into a hymn.

But that day the strangers touched what was inside my cloud. I was a girl, and they put down their candles, consecrating their death with the fervor of my prayer.