i woke to dawnthousands of indelible stainsi followed the patterns deciphered mycalves, my nailsthe back of my kneesi read along I wouldI would like to pleaseI would pleaseas letters and symbols reset around my neckI would like to see you, please, sometimei woke to bitter shapesand oddly shaped bitter flavorswants of some dreaming statewe never quite reachedcould we ever quitereach he used to hoard estate, children and cash.that was all he ever knew how to do.he would buy land, sell money and give love awaylike easy christmas all year long.(we never celebrated christmas, though)when the vultures came, as they werebound to come for all, to his deathbedi was lost for words so i let them speak:we came for our share(at tea time, with cakes and get-wellsand best wishes their beaks hidingand twisting in half-hearted smiles)robbed of his pride"they took everything", he saidthe doctors would have saidno pens, his sick hands will signno chequeshis mortal soul will not be measured in goldbut there was no hospital scenethe vultures were my brothers and sisters.i couldn't say and the cemetery ladywouldn't understand that I just wantedthe one rose, not the whole thinggo on honey, take it, no chargethis, the last offenseI took my free rose my shame roseand i wanted to tell him i was sorryfrom above his gravedidn't i leave you with enough meansto buy a bloody rose or the entire flower shopif you damn well pleasei never took anything for free, he said (I thought he saidbut the dead are quietand the sound was me)I just wailed and got the cemetery grasswet,and it grew not thankfuljust full of purposemonths later the chinese manwith the acupuncture needlesand the wall certificatesspoke to the 10 year-old in mein his wisely broken englishdaddy had to go somewhere elseand one day we'll all go there too this diverted series of breaths phased outthe occasional red and yellow all that's left of fireflame's out, yearning's memory's delicate painthere's nothing to beg for anymorei could bite my lips to originate some new beginningingest brand new worms and drag slowlythis fog, this bird song from stratocaster youthsi could raise this infection and seize the feverbut my guts are cold and there might be nothing leftin love and other folliesfor me to cling to Escritora, palestrante, ilustradora, contadora de historias tradicionais e educadora bilingue, Vangri e uma india da etnia Kaingang - RS que mora no Rio de Janeiro. Faz belas pecas artesanais de sementes naturais ou tingidas e penas coloridas. Brincos, pulseiras, colares, cintos e aneis. So vendo peca a peca para perceber a variedade, capricho e beleza de seu artesanato indigena.Contatos: vangrikaingang@hotmail.comTels: 8378-7775 / 8597-8446 Inscricoes abertas para curso de Contadores de historias da Biblioteca Popular Municipal Clarice Lispector, no GrajauInicio do curso 03/08/11.Apenas 25 vagas.Tel: 2214-3O27No mesmo local, de segunda a sexta-feira, das 9h as 17h, e oferecido acesso gratuito a Internet.Com acervo de livros sobre diversos assuntos para consulta e emprestimo, tambem de graca, a biblioteca fica na Rua Jose Vicente, 55, ao lado da Escola Municipal Francisco Campos. Mais informacoes podem ser obtidas pelo telefone 2577-1413. -