I don’t know how to speak anymore. I can’t speak anymore. I have taken apart what they never gave me, which was all I had. And it is death again. It closes in on me, it is my only horizon. No one resembles my dream. I have felt love and they mistreated it, yes, me, I who had never loved. The deepest love will disappear forever. What can we love that isn’t a shadow? The sacred dreams of childhood have already died, and with them those of nature, which loved me.
Alejandra Pizarnik, tr. by Yvette Siegert, from Extracting The Stone of Madness: Poems 1962-1972; “Memories of the little house of song”
