Le Casas

“Breathing is not the process of being filled
and emptied: breathing is the act
of actually making love to the whole world,
which is to say the world is
your lover, which is to say love the whole
world, in all sweaty folds
and scabbed pockmarks, which is to say
love your dirty corners, your
stalk-like legs and barrel hips, love all
the no and the no and the no
that brought you rigth here, to this moment
and love the yes. The yes:
the breath that found its way to you, built
a home in your blood cells,
changed itself to better suit you and for it,
tonight, you say: I was made to
breathe and move and give, which is to say love.
Love. I was made to love.”
― Sierra DeMulder, Today Means Amen

“I am trying to teach poetry in school districts
that only know how to starve. I am trying
to show my students, who don't know

how to spell, how to write their lives
in anything but blood. I am trying to learn
how to give and foster forgiveness in a body

that wants none of it.”
― Sierra DeMulder, Today Means Amen

“No puedo explicarte bien como soy. También yo me pierdo de vez en cuando. No me entiendo. No sé lo que pienso en realidad ni lo que quiero. No sé si tengo alguna clase de poder y, en caso que así sea, si puedo usarlo de algún modo. Esos pensamientos me hacen sentir miedo y entonces solo puedo pensar en mí, me convierto en un egoísta.”
― Haruki Murakami, The Elephant Vanishes

“I have calculated the total number of hours
we spend sleeping beside each other in a week

and I wanted to tell you it could be considered
a full-time job. We could be eligible for healthcare
benefits, could probably even pay for a mortgage

by now. I remind myself of this, in daylight, when
I miss you and cannot reach across the bed

for the comforting filling and refilling
of your chest. Such a strange affair
we are having on each other; these hours

that I have not lost but do not remember.
This cannot be the best of love: to drool

on someone’s collarbone or inhale an elbow to
the jaw or be woken by the most ungraceful sounds
of the body. But what is it if not the softening

of grips? A letting go of. Your heart
finally slowly that stubborn, lonely march.”
― Sierra Demulder