"Sleep tight little one
alone as if suspended in the sky
Become a woman without knowing
no earring, no bracelet, no ring
no mirror, no board, hair tie, hula hoop
No mother near,
no father right
no right bed,
without cover,
becomes a scared woman,
becomes a woman early.
Sad plot girl,
finger up,
against what you don't know
about what no one told you.
The malandragem, the tomboy
mingle with the new breasts
piercing the boy's clothes they give him
in which to menstruate
always with the same panties,
no pad, no toothbrush,
no hot cloth, no OB.
Everything is disgust, fear,
mix of “wheres.”
And the colic,
the headache,
it's always the same shit,
the same pain,
not having a lap,
park
square,
dressing table,
homeland.
she little moon
there is no lipstick, planet, pen,
diary, hemisphere,
Without understanding its mystery,
she fights herself to sleep
but it's still a girl;
suck your finger
and is afraid
to be raped
by the drunken beggars of Aterro
afraid of being hurt, afraid.
Then menstruate and change with fear
to be pregnant, impregnated,
on the night of the same Aterro.
Are you afraid that the father of that son will be arrested,
are afraid, afraid
She who can never be her right,
she who didn't even rehearse the way with the doll
you're going to have to be a mother quickly on the sidewalk
having a child without thinking, having a child by chance
be a mother and victim
Having a child hurts,
to hit,
to abandon.
If you sleep, sleep nothing,
it is the body that lets go, that surrenders
to the weariness of hunger, misery,
of unabashed hurt
sleep with your mouth closed,
eyes open,
locked vagina.
Being her like that on the street
is always about to be run over
by the dick without an owner
of the other suffering boy-men,
of the madman swept away,
by masked police.
Had she been cared for,
had a place to sleep,
way where to go,
laundry, school, manicure, sewing machine, embroidery,
painting, theater, embrace, cardigan
could cinder
wake up one day
citizen.
Dream who sings to her:
“If that moon, if that moon were mine...”
Dream of being loved,
have Christmas, happy children,
husband, dress,
pagoda saturday in the backyard.
Dream and wake up
because girl on the street,
is very young
it's too small moon
is just being a crater, just holes,
skinless, unprotected, spoiled
for the raw life
Is being alone, full of questions
no reply
always exposed, poor moon
It's being a girl-woman with a cold
but always naked."
------
Elisa Lucinda dos Campos Gomes is a Brazilian poet, journalist, singer and actress.
(Photo: UNESCO Chair )
