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Te estoy buscando. A vos, mi madre biológica.
 
Me diste a luz el 14 de octubre de 1969 en el entonces Sanatorio Central de Bahía Blanca, o en una clínica de dos pediatras o en el Hospital Penna de Bahía Blanca, a las 2 de la madrugada. Me entregaste por intermedio de NEF-Niños en familia (tal vez hablaste con Marta Bermudez, la que era Directora de NEF, y quizás pasaste en su casa el último tramo de tu embarazo). Te busco para conocer tu historia y la mía, para escucharte, para entenderte, para verte una vez más, para saber si tengo hermanos. Animate. Escribime a bahiaoctubre69@yahoo.com. Te espero.

domingo, 2 de diciembre de 2012

El vacío

Si hay un hilo conductor que une a los hijos adoptivos con los padres biológicos que dan a sus hijos en adopción, y quizás también con los padres adoptivos, es la presencia del vacío. Un vacío constante, tangible, que se agranda o se achica según el momento de la vida, pero nunca desaparece del todo. Un vacío con el que convivimos mejor o peor según las circunstancias. Hoy va un poema que escribí hace como 5 años. No sé por qué de repente me acordé de él. Creo que no tengo mejor manera de describir el vacío. Acá va. Me salió en inglés y no me voy a poner a traducirlo pero bueno, el que pueda y quiera leerlo, que lo lea.


You in me

You in me,
my first doll broke, and she was empty inside,
don’t cry, you said, hollow dolls don’t bleed, you will be fine,
but through the crack in her knee, I could see you,
empty of me.
I emptied you, you emptied me,
and there I stand,
all dressed up in alien skin,
with no boundaries to hold
the unbearable softness all around,
and you, sharp, in me, and gone.
I locked my doll in a basket, released her in the sea
I ran, I ran, I ran
to a hiding place to hurt and bleed
and there it was
the soft relief, that red fine thread,
not hollow after all,
just flesh and blood.

You in me,
the promise kept,
the rings intact,
your arm on mine,
I turn around, and there you are,
still panting on my shoulder,
your smile, your eyes,
still there as I blink,
(you are real, after all)
that’s you, in me,
that’s me, wide open,
all dressed up in alien skin,
for the ritual to begin,
but as your lips toy with my thigh, I close my eyes and see:
this is as close as I will get
to you, in me,
before you fill in all my cracks,
before you fill in all my gaps,
no opening left for the light to get in,
no air to breathe,
so solid the void, you can’t get through.
And there I stand,
all dressed up in alien skin,
open for you, who won’t come in.




You in me,
your tiny feet, eager to run,
wade my sea, and the tide brings back
the basket where my doll still lays,
her broken knee, her empty leg,
my blood, my flesh, that’s you in me,
I show you the way out, I lead you by the hand,
watch your step, it’s slippery outside
that’s you, slipping out,
that’s me, letting go,
and yet,
you in me, you, in me.

You in me,
no use for words now, face to face,
just you, just me, just flux and fire,
and out you slip, you who won’t leave,
yet out you go, you too,
and that’s as close as I could get.
That’s you slipping out,
that’s me letting go,
waving through the window,
overdressed, with an oversize smile I never meant to wear.
Another snowflake melted on my doorstep.
Yet another closing door,
and there you are,
gone.

But you in me, you, you in me,
my empty core,
my alien skin,
my hollow me,
                        you never leave,
in you I trust
to hold me.

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