Muchacha

Think of me, girl, think of me
when the witches scratch you in the morning.
I won't make the cold warmer for you
or make the coffee with milk sweeter
but think of me,
girl,
think of me.

Think of me when your salary doesn't arrive
or when you get pushed in the metro at eight something.
And carry me
embroidered on your blouse
or painted on your red smile.

Swing me
on your earrings.
Surround me with your rings
and let me go with you, let me go.

Let me go wherever you go, let me go
girl, between joy and sorrow
embraced against the poem
you read in secret.

The city will yawn lazily
when you mark the hour and open the office windows
and shake off the birds
that nest in your hair,
your heart tells you
that the caged bird dies.

They bring me dreams and heartbeats in their feathers
when their beaks hit my windows
and they tell me
the white and small story
that withers between four walls.

They chirp
that spring is dying
that they can't go out for a walk.
Let me go with you, let me go.
Let me go wherever you go, let me go
girl and brighten your face.

Think that we still have
the path of your birds
to fly it, you and I, with them.