ODE TO LOVE Poem by María Mercedes Carranza

On an afternoon you'll never forget
he will come to your house and sit at the table.
Bit by bit he will have a place in every room,
on the walls and the furniture he will leave traces,
he will unmake the bed and make a hollow in the pillow.
The books in the bookcase, that precious texture of years
will take new places according to his taste and looks,
old photos will also change from here to there.
Other eyes will look at your customs,
your comings and goings between walls and embraces,
and everyday noises and odors will be different.
On one of these afternoons that you'll never forget
he who unmade your house and inhabited your things
will go out through the door without saying goodbye.
You will have to begin redoing your house,
putting the furniture in its place, cleaning the walls
changing the lock, tearing up portraits,
sweeping everything to go on living.