The Weight of Staying

Him:
—I come from gaucho roots.
I grew up watching the fierceness.
And me... I don't know.
Sometimes I feel I'm a disappointment to them.
The last day was hard
ever since the light broke the frost
on my window and I heard
the distant murmur of the crowd,
between rounds of mate
and gin against the cold.
The prayer of praise, health and blessing
gave me more courage
and convinced me that I'm capable
of belonging to their lineage.

Her:
—I understand, because I too
spent a long time
trying to fit into my family,
even if it hurt me.
I mistook submission
for identity.

I thought that getting used to things
was a way of loving.

Him:
—I don't think that's love.
I hide my weaknesses
by tipping up the brim of my hat.
With my pingo's leave,
I tighten the cinch while I look at him,
I even out the stirrups
without harming his coat.
At a gallop across the plain,
entranced by the trilling of the birds
and distracted by the wind in the mill,
I hear the cattle lowing...
I know they don't suspect
the onslaught of the country folk
that will soon reach them.

She:
—And what happens to you
in that moment?

He:
—My veins turn to ice.
The calf struggles...
I shudder at the edge of the verijero blade,
which also slashes my understanding.
I crank the forge,
working up the nerve of my manhood.
I don't want to be part of that scene,
I see the euphoria of my own people,
they egg on the sizzling
and the smell of burned hide...
His initials burn
into the reclining landscape.
She:
—It must be hard
to wrap yourself in appearances.
Him:
—I didn't turn out wild,
I understand that...
But tradition persists in me
and the weight of the legitimate wears me down.
it still wears me down.

I feel relief when the herd heads toward the hills,
at a slow pace, as if the wire fence
weren't going to limit their freedom.

Her:
—When you begin to change,
everything breaks.
That's what happened to me.
I remember that sometimes I kept quiet.
Other times I smiled, to hide the sadness
like a vile, aching lie.
The reward of crumbs
after unkept promises,
and the need to soothe
that heart
which mistook love for protection.
Him:
—I'm afraid if I stop obeying.
What if I stop belonging?
Her:
—I didn't leave all at once.
First I discovered

that my fears were beliefs.
I felt incomplete
and I was terrified
by the idea of not being loved.
Doubt and loss of control
they tried to work me like a puppet.
I pulled the strings taut with all my strength,
holding up what had already slipped away.
I chose not to listen to myself.

He:
—And how do you know when the moment comes?
She:
—When,
Weeping in front of the mirror,
I let the old armor fall.
I spoke to myself harshly. Without pity.
I saw the fire run through me like burning rivers.
Until I understood that his mission was never
to heal a wounded girl.
I learned to set him free without demands...
and I understood that my mistakes
were also part of his misfortune.

He:
—And what was it like to let go?
Did it feel like a farewell?
She:
—At first, winter
is endlessly freezing.
The iciness of my legs beneath the sheets,
the vastness of the bed,
my head searching for his shoulder
on the right side of the pillow...
I dreamed his figure on the walls
and spoke his name in the darkness.
Every attempt to hold on to him
was a betrayal of my own tenderness;
it tore me apart more and more.
I knew that healing was my duty.
He kept silent.
He took off his hat slowly
like someone letting a character fall away.
The payadores went on strumming
while the sky yawned

and the horizon blinked,
swallowing the ashes of the old commandments.
And if some roughness were still left,
the wind would know how to blow it away.