Mourning an undespeaed loneliness. Not a pants, not a sock, not an intimate garment that makes me company. Being so delicate is not good. Mourning the lack of company...
First I washed the rags, then the napkins, then the panties, and the T-shirt. I dried my hands on the towel. I put them to dry and I sat down to spread cream on my hands....
What an illusion! To arrive, to hug her (in front), to undo the knot (in the back) And after, we'll see....
I can imagine her sitting, so light on clothes because of the suffocating heat, easily; with her fingers intertwined, without TV, without radio; in a silence just burst by the din of her thoughts, while her eyes, focused towards the window behind which is...
They are the lumpen of domestic text. The dragged, essential and marginalized ones. And they need to be marginalised, for health, hygiene and comfort. How much they work for us and how badly they are treated! Their tragedy is that it cannot be otherwise...