She Was Once Poem by L.B. Temuco

She was once three or four,
or was it older
In a Cradle
On top of a Mountain
She gives me her child soft hand
and we climbed together
The sides of that vast
Southern Sky
Over its highest parapet
we lean over the Darkness
Together, drawn
curious, unborn
into the Cloaca below
Mother and Earth the same
At its heart
two figures at the wood shed
chiselled
sculpted
bitten by the cold in the air
We know why
and we know how
the geometry is very clear
as we descend
with the silence of immigrants
wishing the queue
were a little longer