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Legend
Never have eight daughters, for they may all be barren.
Indian proverb.
Then the grandmother said
'I want a grandchild...
The night seeks the day
And the tree shouts a sprout
Everything reclaims a birth
To seek a meaning for its death
So the grandmother said
She wanted a grandchild.
"These breasts are the snow
From which no water flows
Between our thighs are stones
Our belly an empty white cloud.
Said the eight daughters
Of the dying grandmother
Like trees in the yard
On which no bird sits.
'T have killed my father
And struck my mother down
T have stood all alone
Like a cloud in the sky
But my breasts were flowers
And my thighs the roof
Of this world, my belly
Ripe as summer trees
Eight stitches have ruined my life
Eight times these lips have fallen
Have I lived these eighty years
To see eight stones in my yard?"
The dying woman asked
And like trees
They stood and waited
For the rain to fall.