MONICA MANOLACHI

willow feeling

if I were a transparent willow,
I would have many more arms to caress you.
if one of them were lazy,
there would be another to shiveringly rise
its garlands of leaves
and touch your reindeer temples.

if I had a willow body,
my embrace would be more durable,
my roots would prevent me from running
when I am hurt,
our kiss would be more difficult to stop,
my green blood would circulate naturally,
without sentimental cramps,
until late after innumerable snowfalls.

if I were a weeping willow,
I would weep only for love,
laughing under the trembling shadow of the clouds.
in your arms I would tell fairy tales
with lovers of the big cities
and I would utter their whispers and moans,
as if reading from an old book of amour.

if I were to turn into a dry willow,
take the pruning knife and cut some twigs,
twine them and put some clay on.
if people were to sing,
remember how the wind was blowing underneath
rising our arms.