OPENING HOLES

 

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1.

the head wakes up whirling to the sound of an alarm which wasn’t set

at twilight one never knows whether one is half zombie

half cyborg or half ghost

the memory jumps in lapses

dream and reality can hardly be separated

so many things can emerge from a dark room:

rest - party - nightmare

the clock is ticking:

torture - bird song - trivialities - -

the machinal eye of a camera becomes my first mirror

an infinity mirror

we meet daily, without saying good morning

three stretched bodies along a horizontal line, barely breathing

time is a blurred parameter

 

2. 

standing up, life goes on

the floor supports bewildered bodies

a warm cup of tea pours through the mouth hole,

slowly descending into the bag of the stomach

density, balance and a state of well being surround the solar plexus

the neck slowly moves, looking for clearer directions

neither half zombie nor half cyborg, not even half ghost

an animal, and nothing more

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into how many beings can we multiply?

 

looking for comfort, my back asks for a larger bag

i throw objects into a big backpack

with the door half open, i wait for the future surprises to come

the sun comes in with its blind light

nobody but me crosses the street

 

3.

the holes are everywhere

merging with the architecture,

camouflaging themselves into the landscape

i guess not all of them would be willing to receive my arm

i draft a mental plan to dig my own hole with a garden shovel

as dawn shed its golden light:

cold breeze - a few people - -

boats parked on the sand -  -

dogs

sweat drips in droplets over my body

drawing a map,

offering directions

what once appeared to be predictable becomes extraordinary

impressive, precisely for being so common

i walk across the golf course:

there are more holes

i walk by the emptiness of the vacant buildings,

i smell the moisture of the earth under the grass

the shallow breath becomes deeper

a subtle pleasure,

a familiar emotion

such a physical sensation cannot help

but bring me back childhood memories

 

4.

i am at the border,

along the invisible scar which defines where in this world our bodies should be placed

by the seashore, the waves draw a line made of water

further beyond, the vast expanse of the horizon

my bare feet sink into the cool moisture of the sand

i thread slowly so as to show some respect

algae fluctuates around me

perhaps digging holes is the same as opening portals,

i envision the possibility of making leaks in every border in the world

i evoke the machines operating in the fantastic journeys to the center of the earth

the underground movements

a breaking wave brings me back to the present moment

i know everything is bound to disappear in the face of the sea

i try not to create expectations,

but the image of my grandmother from my father’s side draws itself in my head

i don’t know how she looks like,

i was only a baby when i last saw her

i listen to a choir of voices describing her face

the hole, the hole,

i have barely moved and it is already opening

 

5.

i start digging

this alive, softened, mysterious, pebbly surface

It swallows my hand even before i can go deeper,

we caress one another

life made both of us rough, for different reasons

the sea gently reaches us

soaking - dismantling - rearranging everything - -

of course, i was not given permission to dig, yet

​

i wait

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being here is not only up to me, after all

slowly, the water withdraws

i give thanks 

i restart digging,

i remove a portion of sand with both hands,

trying to get swiftly inside the cavity

it doesn’t work

the surface slides and closes itself around my fingers,

nothing but a shallow-hole

a tiny puddle sheltering my hand

i breathe

i rehearse an artificial tranquility

so as to curb my desire to control

in my mind i reorganize the instructions

so as to give them the status of magic

nothing here should be understood as an order, but as a happening

i look at the horizon, which remains there:

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blue - unshakable - whole - -

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i touch the sand,

yes, we are playing

i offer some rest to the (always so efficient) right hand

from now on the left one leads the game

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hand - wrist - forearm - elbow - arm - -

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how far can we go together?

now it’s only us and the secret of the deep holes

 

6. 

quietly,

the left hand dig itself on its own,

gaining depth 

the hole grows without the emptiness at its core

which would never appear

all that is there to be seen is arm - sand - salty water - - 

occasionally, small stones

i change the position of the body due to curiosity, not discomfort

the faith shown by the left hand surprises me

its sense of inability never turns into an obstacle,

it is hard-working and silent

the soft wind lets me know i could remain there for hours

the sea goes further away every minute

i find myself with a sudden desire to bury both my arms,

as i imagine my body on the floor embracing the cosmos

the memory of a young woman who had both her arms amputated  

strikes me with a nearly hallucinatory reaction

we are all susceptible to losing one of our body parts

the right hand, until now asleep, awakens

i request it to throw some more sand 

over my half buried arm

the hole extends upwards

taking the form of a small volcano with an obstructed crater

inside, warm - red - pulsating lava: blood

from now on, i have an arm embedded in this land

i close my eyes, and there i remain