Horatiu Stamatin Poems
A woman came in my garden.
She took off her bra, cut her left bosom, and buried it in the shadow of a tree.
After a while I kept working with the fruit, and she had got another bosom grown.
Digging a tree root, I came across a rifle. I lifted it to the sky and fired.
I heard a sigh and a blue liquid started to dropp down as from a wound.
Sometimes the fairies run out from the stories. Recently I’ve met one at a bar counter shivering in front of a tonic gin. You come close to her and whisper in her ears:
“This happened to me too.”