The old sculptor of Syros carved me according to his own needs

mute so as not to contradict him

arms crossed on my chest to avoid all embraces

thighs sealed shut to preserve my virginity

eyes were superfluous

the old sculptor of Syros was blind

Gaze turned inward

legs fettered, arms sealed to the chest the girl sculpted by the man whose eyelids were sewn shut with iron thread

The dead princess I was meant to accompany to the other world had nothing to say

it was yesterday it was very long ago

thousands and thousands of years

I still hear my mother's voice as she brought in the laundry hung between two cypress trees

“Come back to the house, Kia, the death that took your brother away doesn't want you!”

Her voice crossed out by the angrily blowing wind

a subterranean wind that cracked the earth

raised the waves and made ships pitch in the cove

wind that announced a storm […]