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You draw colored circles on my back in front of a fire that might have burned for centuries. Important things always existed, always pierced us, always blew our minds. We went hiding under the pecan tree, one for each of us, on opposite corners of my yard, where all the leaves fall, the squirrel cracks up, and the hawk watches like he cannot believe us. Never mind the oak. The oak was too big, too old, too true. (“Two” does not make sense anymore.)
It was nice to see you breathe it.
The soundless old woman dressed in blue and white left me here alone and naked. Many years passed, stretched before the fire, with my head north, with my head south, all track of time lost. I did not expect you any more. And yet you showed up eating a hamburger sitting at the table, surprised, but only a little, to see me naked in front of the fire with this crown of white and blue feathers.
Maybe if I give you my headdress, you will change your ideas. You get up and come to stretch before the fire with me. I turn around and I show you my white breasts, rather than make love, your hands get closer to my heart to draw more circles.
Nevermind, I tell you about the Patriarch, a Child of the Magnetic Desert who believes he’s a witch cause he’s wearing a black mask painted like a tiger that someone lent him; that I went there to know why I was not important to a father that loved me so I could work in peace; that my job was to walk the path around the pond, picking flowers and making wishes, while he looked at me from the balcony grinding his teeth and stroking white cats.
His poetry will never be as good as mine, his desire never so intense, his pleasure will never satisfy him! He thinks he is the ringmaster of worlds, the savior of his kind, the rider of beasts. Because of him, I returned to the wall of pain, climbed it, answered my own questions. I saw I have no parents. I made the incredible effort. I am beginning and end; I said my name. I took off the garment they gave me, dropped it onto the checkered floor.
Now, I walk so the the stars connect with the earth on my back, I throw a healing blanket, Black and White are no more. I watch the blood of dragons penetrating each other, birthing the rose that I carry, so young men wake up excited and old men can die in peace.
Be my lover.
By the way, it is the time of the rose. I eat the density that was the bread of those days, I exhale the scent of roses.
Viviane Vives is a filmmaker, actor, photographer, and writer. A Fulbright scholar for Artistic Studies,–Tisch School of the Arts, NYU– her translation work, poems, and short stories have been published internationally. Some of Viviane's recent publications are poetry in the Southeast Missouri University Press, a short story, "Todo es de Color, Children of Catalunya" in Litro Magazine of London, and a ten page story in The Write Launch: "In the oblique and dreamlike style of Marguerite Duras, Viviane Vives weaves memories of her ancestors and place—Nice, Barcelona, Perth, New South Wales, Texas—in “Dialogues With Your Notebook,” a stunning literary achievement.” She is also a Finalist of the Philadelphia Stories’ Sandy Crimmins National Prize in Poetry, Semifinalist of the American Short(er) Fiction Contest by American Short Fiction and Honorable Mention in Passager's 2019 Poetry Contest.. Viviane is a nominee for Sundress Press’ Best of the Net Anthology Best of the Net 2018 for fiction by Burningword Literary Journal, whose editor Erik Deerly also included her in their Best of 2018 Anthology. Black Mountain Press also included her wok in their Best Sixty Four Poets of 2018 anthology. Her latest publications are Note to Self in Burningword #90, three flash-fiction pieces in The Anti-Languorous Project, and a short story The Cities and the Dead in Reed Magazine and Journal of Latina Critical Feminism. She writes in both, Spanish and English. Her first language was French and part of her family spoke Catalan at home. She learned Portuguese to be able to read Fernando Pessoa in his native language. In chronological order, the cities she has lived in for an extended period of time are: Barcelona, Paris, Madrid, New York, Sant Feliu de Guixols, Los Angeles, Austin, Sydney, and Perth. She's currently back at 'home' in Austin, TX. Short version Bio: Viviane Vives is a finalist of the Sandy Crimmins National Prize in Poetry, semifinalist of the American Short(er) Fiction Contest by American Short Fiction, and a nominee for Best of the Net Anthology, 2018. Recent publications include Litro Magazine, Burningword, and Best Sixty Four Poets Anthology of 2018 by Black Mountain Press.