Million Women
Millions of women unfold their lives in the faded walls of
closed.
The baby's crying at night
unites man to the side
and divides
for the sacredness of his sleep.
Then comes the time to do the hair line and resume
loosened tresses,
comes time to wash and blow noses
skinned knees.
Millions of women - so -
waiting for departures and separations:
and is always early morning - to wake up
the face of fatigue is always white.
million women still do not know
breaths
birch - just the labor of the day -
do not know the wishes and arms
but only cares
bellies and empty silences
that grow in bodies defeated.
-Adriana-Scarpa
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