.
FEBRUARY
you will often return to yourself
as one enters places where hearths once burned
and where the smell of smoke lingers
melancholic
and invisible
an autumnal or wintry mustiness
grips your startled hands
and wants to sink them into the earth
so take the necessary precautions
when the tangle of days on your shoulder blade
feels like cement or hatred in its pure state,
leave the house, breathe the grasses, bite their stems
hard
don’t ask why, bite them,
and that’s that
.
Poem by João Ricardo Lopes
Official Website: https://joaoricardolopes.com
