Amnion

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”.