Aita Biltzaileari, Seme Hondatzaile

Photo by Edurne Tx on Unsplash

I have been staring at the dictionary during all of my childhood,
in the attempt to understand the world, but I didn’t.
And my father didn’t let me go, he was sipping coffee-diluted-in-mother’s-milk slowly, just too slowly for me not to read a word, a letter, I was missing air.

I started tearing page by page, when he didn’t look, memorizing only page numbers, some random titles, then chewing and swallowing them one by one, so I could perhaps digest them, the hard way.
But I still didn’t understand.
The psychologist and its sophisticated learnings.
Oh this specific page I seemed powerless to rip and discard into my world, my acidic internals.

I had no choice but to start living, concept by concept, until life ran out.
Just too soon,
perhaps my digestion didn’t work.

Skulking fingers in pockets for some Basque useless coins,
I hired the services of Bros, Leeches & Earthworms
and everything was sorted out, peacefully, organically…
At the graveyard.