Licence For Staying In One Place Poem by Cristina M. Moldoveanu

I breathed with my tummy like children do
the old men singing his mouth organ was asleep
inside that small blue whitewashed house
I was dreaming
the Med the peace between sea and shores the olive trees
a villa San Michele without treasures

(as if they they had honey on the soles of their feet
everyone steals the dust from the street
they castrate male nudes and take out the eyes of sculpted women
they unwind tapestries)

I wrapped myself in a big bath towel
I lay on the carpet as if it were green grass
I cried
I tried to forget

my bedroom wall was stained by the trail of my fingers
dragged as in a rape

after the house's repairs the water was murky red
I tried to drive in nails where they cannot be forced
into earthquake-resistant structures
and only that was left