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.