Exit from the weeds.

I ,who had been erased by the fire, began to cover myself of green (what

brightest season).

 

Over time animals

they came to inhabit me,

first one by one, sneaky

(its well-known footprints

burned); and then

having already drawn new limits, returning, more

insurance, year after year, of two in two but restless: I was not completely prepared to be inhabited.

 

It may have seemed to you that It was too heavy: I could have tipped over;

I was scared how

the shine of his eyes (green or amber) came to the outside from inside me.

 

It was not finished; At night I couldn't see without lamps.

He wrote, We are leaving. I answered, I don't have any left

clothes to wear.

 

The snow arrived. The sled was a great help; His trail was left behind as if he were pushing me to the city

and once I had surrounded the first hill, I found myself

suddenly

uninhabited: they were already gone.

 

There was something that they almost taught me that I had not yet learned when I left.

By Margaret Atwood.

 

 

Done