They could be confused with a shadow,
a dormant construction of the morning
right above the ground lifted by mist,
the terrain of nocturnal vacillations,
dreams unrecalled, stains of regret
sweating the sheets made of cotton
or other natural fibers. There is peace
to have when the rhythm of deboned
routines takes over. A lullaby the wind
sings in the rocking chair of the house,
built on stilts that sway with the dreams
of the river and the dreams of the people
it cocoons. The stilt construction keeps
vermin away, but it attracts birds. Awaken
birds swallow the seeds of insights
and hidden thoughts. They peck with eyes
exactly indifferent. They peck the seeds
so they won’t shoot up at night. Peace
of stalled growth. The birds’ beaks swollen
with the rich flavors of the forgotten.
Which is also the place where they go to die.
Not up in the air but on firm ground, like
a betrayal to their freedom but an homage
to their roots, the ones they eat every night
in the dreams of the people who won’t close
their windows because they have stilt hopes.
When they walk, they barely touch the ground.
Lucía Orellana Damacela is the author of Life Lines, (winner of The Bitchin’ Kitsch Chapbook Competition, 2018), and Sea of Rocks, forthcoming. Her poetry and prose have been published in both English and Spanish in more than twelve countries. Lucía has lived in the Americas, Europa and Asia, tweets at @lucyda and blogs about her writing at notesfromlucia.wordpress.com.