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GARDEN BENCH (1985)

GARDEN BENCH

I pass that way sometimes – to fondle the place that was your body’s on the garden bench. But I dare not touch it. I only stretch out the shadow of my hand over the place where you used to sit, at my side.

We are, thus, two ghosts: yours, hidden by the light and by forgetfulness; and mine, revealed by the shadow that moves forward towards the wound of the barbed wire of memory.


Manuel Jorge Marmelo (writer)
June, 30th 2009