pyramids of salt

Mary was alone in the beach

staring at turquoise sea.

All in her was saying:

“I am not from here”

Her white skin,

The book in her hands

Her legs under the gold sand

like she wanted to vanish into it.

Her wish of being unnoticed

would have to wait for other day,

Teresa had put an eye in her.

 

Teresa came without invitation

Moving her body,

How she only knows.

She introduced herself as an artisan

Who grew up in this place.

The old fortress was her playground,

The Caribbean Sea her bathtub.

She told the story about herself

like if she was telling, how was her day.

Her father died when she was 12,

On her shoulders,

A sick mother and 3 siblings to feed.

She had to learn how to survive,

Salt stones, coconut shells and tourists,

were what she had.

She had survived selling to tourist

whatever she could made by her hands.

Sometimes earrings, sometimes necklaces

Other times pyramids of salt.

 

Mary had drunk some beers,

Maybe for that

She spoke like never before,

She told about her reasons for being there,

Her black and white life,

Her senseless job,

Her taciturn husband,    

Her wish for being another person,

A person like Teresa,

Free to sleep at any hours,

Free to stay wherever she wanted

without schedules and rules.

 

They talked like best friends,

Although they never met before,

Boyfriends, betrays, dreams.

All was important.

They saw the sun moved through the sky,                                                    

To finally hiding behind the fortress.

They saw the moon appear

Tourists left

And stories continued…

◄ The painting

Another day ►

Comments

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Stephen Gospage

Thu 29th Jul 2021 17:45

An intriguing story, beautifully told.

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