I do not believe in luck. Destiny
-someone said- interweaves
irreversible and iron. What is not seen,
what we do not know exists,
weighs on us and defines us.
Everything marks us. My sister died four days
before my birth -that was in Bariloche-.
I know her from photos of her. I never explained myself
her death, although they told me several times
her story. It was cold. She was like a cold
and she choked on hers own snot from hers. Father
he was taking care of her. When he saw her stir he took her
in her arms and without knowing what to do she ran
towards the hospital. Upon arrival she was dead.
For a long time my parents
they mourned her death - she was the first daughter. Father
he blamed himself. Later he learned
the simple exercise that relieves the lungs
and he was more saddened. She did not make it to the year.
When I was born, she was nobody but her ghost
it overshadowed me. The drink of images
she was always the most beautiful.
Her name was Solange de las Nieves, and the white
that lit up his face
then he covered her grave. More than once I imagined her by my side
strong, warm. Much later, now in Bahia,
We had neighbors with whom - who knows why -
we were fighting: silly insults
because we -we were boys-
we played near her sidewalk or we lost the ball
in her yard. We didn't talk to each other. So one night
the neighbor arrived scared. In her arms he had
to the smallest of her children with the violet face
she struggled to breathe. She was asking for help. Quick my dad
He took the car and got them up and ran to the hospital.
I accompanied him. On the trip he was giving instructions
of what is called first aid. Suddenly the child
she vomited thick green phlegm, and he began to breathe.
We left them at the hospital. Our neighborhood
did not get better by this. The balls that fall in your yard
they kept getting lost, and the neighbor still complains
by the barking of the dog,
because we step on her path,
or because we look at it wrong.