The Red Angel

 

You are the angel with red hair stolen from an annatto and faded by the absence of the Garoupa.

You are the woman with a blessed womb that sheltered your offspring, yet one cursed with burdensome shelter.

Upon seeing your stained bed, you suffered, suffered with fervor, and a river of your pain was born,

But even so, you did not drown or surrender your river to the sea.

You are the one who silences deafening screams, even when justified, but later weeps in restraint,

And who flees the maternal bed in search of your tender love.

You are the bearer of harmful fists and the fiery sweetness of the chorus of angels of Augustus.

In your chest flows the blaze of sorrows, but amidst it anchors your rational certainties.

Not even death could topple you! In your strong fibers and stems, you forged your own shield,

Made your ears deaf to what would harm.

You are the one who dwelt in the depths and did not fret to rise but planted flowers there!

You became a chlamydospore in life’s rehearsal; you emerged from the wound, becoming the skin to heal it.

You are the one who carries the silent dream that shelters your restless sleep, who would trade every nightly draught for a fleeting lethargy for dreams of joy.

You are the woman forgotten by melody but who traded all harmony for a sequence of words of her own authorship.

Our paths crossed at the crossroads of our destinies; we were the ones who heard the sound of bells.

There is no honey in our sisterhood, for bitterness explains us better, for an embrace stands on its own.

While I am here, I can watch your hair pale and see you suffer at some point. But never forget: for every darkening, there will also be another angel to protect you.

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