He used to give me small presents to make me smile and do things to make me feel loved. One day he offered me a square of paper where he had written a poem, with his own lovely calligraphy. He told me the poem was from his “cousin Gloria”. Years later I discovered that Gloria happened to be one of the best Mozambican poetesses.
I still remember the small white paper half hidden in his hands. I’ll never forget him or his gestures. Years later I still admire his conviction. He knew me and, above all, he knew that no one else would love me the same way. It has been proven again and again.
Circulates in you. Contains you
so full, fluid and own
that is heard.
But I (your belonging)
from a time without limit
and without place,
just believe in it because it holds
the word that you’ll never say.
Gloria de Sant’Anna