A Friday´s Night Scheme. Poem by Sara Iglesias

In the uncertainty of memory,

sprouts the scent of chalk and lime dust,

Among dismembered buildings and infected corridors.

There was the waking up.



An inquisitive look,

With eyes that fixed on my back,

Once and a thousand times, made my cheeks flush,

As his expression would redirect to my skirt.



With reserve I looked at him,

-How could a stranger love a woman like me? -How could a stranger love a woman like me?

He was singularly insistent,

With Casanova's determination to dare.

In a corner I succumbed,

To the bearing of his figure and the glow of his speech,

when I had promised my God not to yield to his chatter.



I knew lipstick, blush and jewels,

all to impress a womaniser who peeks out

Like a strutting pheasant, I felt crowned.

Crowned by his nearness, crowned by his stole.



What began with the strength of a stallion,

died like the waves of the sea,

swept towards its sentence in the sand.



I found how he lunged towards another,

cornering her between his promises of amusement,

entertainment that only a climber can give,

that which elevates you with its insolence

and lowers you in its sense.



I thought I could redeem the situation,

as the rift opened the crack wider,

It was imprudent of me to participate,

to be part of a performance in which you are the jest.



The instinct of revenge took hold,

between the hurricane glances and the feral bee-eyeing,

I plotted the downfall of his show,

to reduce his position.



I finished my stellar project,

with character and wit to tell,

I confronted his dodges and fictions,

and cut off all ties and distinctions.



The cloak of his explanations

and the cunning of his laughter,

was a delicate swindle,

developed with caution

and expressed with malice.



The crown of feathers unravels,

has to drown at sea,

neither his kisses nor his shadows

can emerge like apparitions of bliss.