José Araujo de Souza

My homesickness takes me on a bay horse galloping through pastures of low luscious grass smelling greenery. While galloping with mane tossed by the wind, the bay frightens hundreds of birds doe-to-grass little stars and small collars and even a beautiful feathered hawk from the field that was half lost perched on a barbed wire fence with climbing melon swinging red around wind. My homesickness is my bay and it takes me to the farm’s orchard where I can harvest jabuticaba oranges, avocados, guava and grapes from the vine in the background where sangços sabiás sing and feast very close to where I am. My longing takes me in the steam of the still where the cane became molasses that turned into brown sugar, which beforehand was already warm brandy that descends making a fire light up in the throat of the mouth that drinks with small strokes in the aluminum cup. My longing makes me want to take your hand so that you go there with me to fish a huge betrayal in the weir that is so deep that I never wanted to swim and dive in it. Walk with me in every room of the house on the white wooden floor that makes a groaning noise at a stronger pace or go down to the granary at the bottom of the house and in the cold nights sit with me on the wide and delicious edge of the huge stove. firewood to tell unsightly anecdotes or to hear a cumpadre play with an eerie cadence an old guitar that he has and that he keeps with affection on the wall of the room to only take out when we go there. My longing is so great and so real that it even makes me see you walking hand in hand with me so happy that I was thinking about how good it would be to go back there again, just once, with you.

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