Sonnet

She came yesterday with a wan face and tears in her eyes

in such a different guise that no one would have said she had been back,

wearing a heavy winter coat that she had made from  dark skies,

followed by a flock of clouds like sheep; some were grey and some black .

She just clicked her invisible fingers  and instead of blossoming flowers

 many umbrellas, like autumn mushrooms, appearead in the street.

She is as old as the world is and, despite her age, she still has magical powers

and she indiscriminately makes use of them on lovers, rendering  them sweet.

We were longing for her warm breath when cold made us very low

but she seems to have fallen in love with the winter and being his wife.

She went to work, with no hairband of leaves but a crown made of snow.

And he kissed her when she left and her lips became frozen as she had no life.

Marry the sun! Accept his bright golden ring.

We miss your gentle being. O’ Spring!

Written on the second day of Spring in the style of William Shakespeare

Shooting star dogs

Some special dogs are like shooting stars. One day they come into your life from nowhere, stay with you for a while, enlightening the gloom around you, and silently fade away, leaving a trail of memories behind them. They are dogs with a mission that should never be revealed. Secretive dogs, agents from an unknown agency in the universe, whose main task is sharing love. Dana, undoubtely, was one of these dogs. She came out in Spring, like a weird, black and white flower, on the most appropiate season for such a joyful dog. Her official biography tells that she had been abandoned when she was found in the park, tied up to a tree, wearing a homeless dog costume. That was actually part of the mise-en-scene, wisely made up to catch the attention of the person who would bring her home. The plan worked and Dana found a name and a family. She was a magnificent actress, far better than Lassie because whereas the collie dog only had to play in some movies and even had a stuntdog, Dana had to play the role of a silent, quiet and docile dog for weeks to assure she would be accepted in her new home. Only my oldest dog was suspicious about her and they both nastily gazed at each other when they met in a reduced space. Experienced grannies have the gift of clarevoyance and when Dana showed her real personality of alpha dog instead of the persona she had been adopting, I could see in my oldest dog’s eyes a grudgy expression that meant: “I always knew that this would happen”.
Dana’s personality erupted like a volcano on an island in the Pacific. The shy dog became a cheeky monkey with a clownish soul and a thunderous voice. She barked claiming attention and she only stopped when her Einstein-esque head was stroked. Everybody at home had to tiptoe to not awake her wildly barking instinct. Even my English teacher practically had to land on the chair to not move it. She was like a Tasmanian Devil in the park towards other dogs and no one dared approach her unless they want to lose an ear. It didn’t matter if it was a softie Great Dane or a grumpy Chihuahua, every dog had to know she was the boss. Despite her strong personality, she never forgot she had a mission and she followed me everywhere I went by day, as if our shadows had been sewn together and, when the lights were out and the writers of dreams were about to read me a new story, she would jump onto my bed, put her head on my hip and sigh.
Now she’s gone. She played her old role of silent dog when she passed away. A silent shooting star lost in some part of the universe. Where is she? I’ve been told energy is never destroyed but transformed. Dana was energy from her snotty nose to her long pigtail and there’s no bigger energy than love, so this energy, the love she shared, has to have flown somewhere. There is a well known legend about passed away dogs that go to a place called The Rainbow Bridge, a sort of canine paradise where someday dogs and their owners will meet. I have a vision of an endless queue of dogs waiting to cross the Rainbow Bridge while Dana, with the red punky crest she had on her last days, lies down at the bridge’s door and growls at any dog who wants to come in. I can hear angelical voices from far saying: “Dear Lord, please, don’t move your throne or she will bark again!”. If Dana went to Heaven, it wouldn’t be a peaceful place anymore so I would choose for her the biblical option that affirms that when a dog dies, its soul goes back to earth. One day she’ll be back with another mission, in different fancy dress but in the meantime, like a pilot who waits for a plane and a map, she looks at the shooting stars and wonders which is hers.

My dog Dana passed away on the 3rd of March. God bless her sweet soul

The swing II

There is nothing in the world but the swing and I. I’m inside the basket that hangs from the olive tree at my grandmother’s house. I can hear my mum telling a story in hushed voice to my granny; they don’t want me to know what they are talking about, that’s why even the invisible insects that sing in the garden are making more noise than them. Suddenly, a word doesn´t want to be anonymous anymore and escapes from my mum’s mouth. Silence says hello and mum seems as embarrased as the day that my brother said “shit” in church but I know a new word now: “Gynaecologist”. I’m younger than two so I think that such a appalling utterance can only be a cat’s name. I don’t like cats and I am scared of them. My granny has many and I hate them because they have big green eyes that flash in the dark corridors of the old, ghostly manor house which, for a baby, it’s terrifying. I’m thinking of the cat that scratched me because I have baby’s sweet smell of milk and sugar and I want to cry but a soft wind rocks the swing, as if Nature would comfort me and the sun whishes to make me smile, drawing funny forms on my dress, shining through the leaves of the olive tree, that look like little silver swords, ready to protect me if a cat attacks. Nothing can do me harm inside the swing.