And no and no and no,
it’s not true
that I’ve hidden my recklessness beneath
beneath a nurse apron.
And no and no and no,
it’s not true
that a man on the bed of precipice
thinks about your garter.
So many sons without clothes,
whom I couldn’t betray,
and so many hands in my hand,
telling me to not let them die.
And no and no and no,
it’s not easy
to let a soldier your age
call you
with his mum’s name.
And on the white of this uniform,
blood looks redder;
and you held on tight, like a dad,
like a dad holds his son.
And they’ve punched holes all over the moon,
and I have filled my heart with bandages.
You mistook me for your woman,
you mistook me for your death.
Our bombed Father,
father of the fathers that I have assisted,
look down,
listen to all your strange sons
who pray without using their hands:
we need them [the hands] here.
Father in the fire of this war,
on earth as it is in heaven,
at least tell me that he’s going to live.
With the ammunition of this rosary
I pray and cry, and shots, shots, shots.
I know I can’t make distinctions,
that I must hold my position, but…
On this night when they kill each other in the thousands,
let me fall in love with one,
let me fall in love with him.
He’s opened his eyes and smiled,
and he even got my name right.