The First Ones Poem by Maria Mitea

We'll have to choose dear
we shall
to choose not between the colors of the sky or the earth,
religion and God
We must pick it up dear, we must
pick
not the stars of the night, nor the flowers of the day,
secretly, my darling, secretly
we shall
extract this tear from the past that never left
and didn't even start like a lightning
without death
and no answer, we shall, my dear
begin with 'the end', like on the big set of paramount pictures,
let's put this spiky cat on the wall
and return, free and happy, like the first people,
ladybug,
carry me on your palms, darling
i'll hold you close to my chest like an armful of dry branches
good for fire