A WOMAN TREMBLING.
I was at a poetry reading.
And a big smiling woman jump on the stage. It was her turn. She started to read. After 4 great poems she stopped. Started trembling. It was not her whole body, nor her hands. It was the bone of her arm. The nerves. She removed gently her red glasses, touched her hair. She whisper in the microphone “I’m sorry. My daughter died one year ago.”
I started to look at this woman in an other way. And asking myself how it can be to be her.
How it can be to lose the only thing you’d created and educated in life.
No answer in my mind, but it must be like a bone trembling under skin.