30 Aug ‘Under the trees’, by A.Z. Phadrig
Illustration: Sarah Jones
I’m in the park, laying on the grass and thinking about you. I hear the cicadas singing in the killing heat. I feel them far away and near at the same time. I hear the noise of girls playing around fountains, and it’s relaxing. I can hear the water, the splashing, the mud forming around their feet; I can hear their laughs. One of the girls is younger that the others and she reminds me of you. She’s blonde and petite. She’s about eight years old. I can see her from my towel. She’s sitting on the soil, away from her friends. She’s scooping up dirt with her hands and dropping it back to the soil, slowly and focused. I wonder what’s in her mind, but it’s impossible to know.
Being here, under the tree’s shade, is refreshing. There’s a breeze and it smells of summer. Sometimes, dry, brown leaves fall from the trees and remind me of your hair color. I can’t stop thinking about how you saved me on the weekend while I see the smooth, restless movement of the branches. I think about how you save my life every weekend. I think slowly about all those times I graze your arms without you noticing. I keep on thinking about your hair and about how I’d like to touch it, calmly, passing my fingers through it.
I’ve picked up the Jorge de Cascante’s book I bought in Barcelona, and it has stains of wet grass. Now the corners are green. I remember all those nights in which you look for my eyes. You smile. You calm down. Sometimes when you look at me like that I think you’re trying to say something to me. In fact, I think you look at me because I’m perfectly sure what you want to tell me with your eyes every time. Now I’m thinking about your eyes and about the ocean inside each of them.
A Labrador retriever came to lick my feet. It’s been lying here with me for five minutes. It’s owner just came to get it. It’s a girl of about 25 years , red-headed and freckled. She’s wearing huge sunglasses and a blue stripped dress. I wish I were her for a moment. The hair around her dog’s snout is wet. I wish I had a dog. Maybe I should adopt one and name it after you, but the problem is, I wouldn’t know what to say if you asked me why I chose your name.
A.Z. Phadrig, Toledo, Spain (1988). Writer and journalist. She has a Degree in Audiovisual Communication and she’s an expert in Fashion Communication. She started writing in 2011 for the blog Confesiones de Leones. She’s currently writing for Las Cositas de A.Z. and is a member of the collective Las Brujas de Mayo. She publishes ‘W’, her own poetry fanzine, as well as the blog Fuck (L)it, and collaborates with La Tribu de Frida.