Porque fuiste suficientemente estúpida para amar un lugar,ahora eres una vagabunda, una huérfanaen una sucesión de refugios.No te preparaste a ti misma lo suficiente.Ante tus ojos, dos personas se estaban haciendo viejas;te podría haber dicho que dos muertes estaban llegando.
Nunca ha habido un padreque se haya mantenido vivo por el amor de un niño.
Ahora, por supuesto, es demasiado tarde —estabas atrapada al idilio de la fidelidad.Continuabas volviendo atrás, aferrándotea dos personas que apenas reconocíasdespués de lo que ellos habían soportado.
Si por una vez hubieras podido salvarte a ti misma,ahora que el tiempo ha pasado: fuiste obstinada, cegada al cambiode una manera patética. Ahora no tienes nada:para ti, el hogar es un cementerio.Te he visto presionar tu cara contra las lápidas de granito —eres el liquen, tratando de crecer ahí.Pero no crecerás,no te permitirásborrar nada.
*
Because you were foolish enough to love one place,now you are homeless, an orphanin a succession of shelters.You did not prepare yourself sufficiently.Before your eyes, two people were becoming old;I could have told you two deaths were coming.
There has never been a parentkept alive by a child's love.
Now, of course, it's too late —you were trapped in the romance of fidelity.You kept going back, clingingto two people you hardly recognizedafter what they'd endured.
If once you could have saved yourself,now that time's past: you were obstinate, patheticallyblind to change. Now you have nothing:for you, home is a cemetery.I've seen you press your face against the granite markers —you are the lichen, trying to grow there.But you will not grow,you will not let yourselfobliterate anything.
Sufriemiento adulto / Adult GriefThe Triumph of Achilles (1985)
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