WHO WOULD HAVE SAID?
Finally, I hate,
and who would have said I would?
Finally the posthumous lie rips my womb.
In between, inside my breast, I finally hate.
Grief, this combustible,
exploding any passion
turning love into this creeping dog
living in the hell of the poorest surrender
to the winter of miserliness
and who would have said that
from the higher extreme of love and affection
I would wind up hating.
Patrícia Evans