dawn-blue comforter with small white butterflies, the one we bought in the Scandinavian store in another life. The sun rays flowing through the window on a bone-white day. The Sunday paper covering half of the bed and us lying there. The comics first, I said. And we carried that Marimekko duvet and the sheets and pillowcases that were also light blue, almost turquoise, soft cotton, from bedrooms in Maryland, to Buenos Aires, and to Porto Alegre, and back again to the U.S. To California, sunsets over the Pacific, purple mountains, palm trees, and hummingbirds. All that time, different newspapers, different light, part of our dreams. And today, as I once more make the bed, pull up the shades, open the window, and look at the endless sky, the palm leaves cast shadow patterns on white butterflies. I lie now alone on the cotton so soft and think how your body was so calm lying there, your last night.
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Maria Caponi was born and grew up in Buenos Aires, Argentina. She has a Ph.D. in physics and a certificate (with distinction) in creative fiction writing from UCLA. She’s the author of An Accidental Pilgrim, a memoir in prose and verse. Maria is currently working on a collection of poetry and personal essays.
