We took for granted the good weather
we did not think of it
the grass grew beneath our feet
between the cracks of ladrillos
blood red, tanned by years of sun and rain.
We did not think of it
as not having a real body
or the body being a stick
the head was rubber, and it rode.
Mine was called Silver before I knew what it meant.
It takes time to understand what time does
to people and things. It takes time
to learn to look back and grasp what it all meant.
The lizards contemplated our journeys
and the tree house was the jail.
Some years later I'd read Tagore,
playing with toy soldiers on a sand duvet.
I'm a lecturer, researcher and editor. I'm interested in many things and do work in many areas. I'm into human-computer interaction design, digital humanities, comics studies, scholarly communications, open access, open data, ethics, public health, politics, media, journalism, human rights. You can follow me on Twitter @ernestopriego.
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