Читать книгу Patient Zero - Tomas Q. Morin - Страница 7

SAUDADES

When that word, one part swine,

one part evasion, first wobbled into my life

I was eating pastrami and hiding in my office

from students and I know Andrade was in the air,

as was the samba, and how it’s almost impossible

to translate either one, nor should you

unless you’ve been a disciple of the rough grief

that lovingly wraps you in its wings, which is warmer

than one would expect, so much so that it’s easy

to forget for a moment something trivial like pigs

aren’t supposed to fly or that if you say saudades

with enough pain and heart the pigs of your past will come

trotting out of the dark, doing their little sideways dance

around you, shaking their hips to the drum

in your chest until you forget what a frown is

or why we need them and oh they will remind you

how delicious Carnival is, and how glorious

it is to make the past present, and how

easily one can sleep dressed in feathers.