by Cristina Taliento
It started raining heavily
while I was sitting in a soulless café
lost in conversations in which I did not recognize myself
turning the salt shaker in my hands over and over
but really distracted by the thought
I was wasting my time.
And I said I had to go to the toilet,
but I went out in the street
in shorts and T-shirt,
without even putting on my sweater
or any other forms of prudence
and I stuck my head in that torrential rain of June,
called by the need to
return to being The Nothing
or, if not that,
the child,
the fetus in the amniotic fluid.
And I stayed there
like someone who is lost,
or as someone who has found himself,
with my long hair soaking wet,
in the middle of the stopped cars with the hazard lights
and the windshield wipers at the speed of
my beating heart.
Then I came back,
magically I was dry.
However as an apology I said:
"It's just
At night I dream of the sea,
I don't want the rain to stop."
I was pretty amazed by your answer
which I expected cold
even artificial,
instead you said:
“Don't worry, I know your oceans”.
