Love is not enough
to end the strange reality
of a strangely lived
life
This is how it happens:
I go to the stream to bathe
as always
far from the country house
far out of view
La Marquesa sends for me and says,
who gave you permission
to bathe?
No one, I answer
Then why? she demands
To be clean, I say calmly
The blow is a fierce one, the fist of a beast
smashing my nose, crushing the bone
opening two spurting fountains
of blood
When her noblewoman’s delicate fist has completed
its secretive labor,
destruction,
then she calls for men
to take my shoes, shave my head,
make me carry a barrel of water
up a hill
over and over; I try but I fall
until both the barrel and I end up
splashing
spilling
rolling
spitting blood
into the stream