It’s hard to tell, really, who invented the wine
And if Christ was the first to get drunk
And make a fool of himself.
For a while, we keep quiet.
I suddenly remember the terrible truth I came here to tell
And start by recalling my name.
I unravel the story: the other day I rescued a kitten; I found it covered in blood
Between the wolf’s sharp teeth
And took it home in my pocket
Nursed it back to life.
A couple of days after, the beast grew into a huge dragon,
Ate all my memories, my pictures, my long thoughts
And asked for my life.
I’m in a puddle of tears now, begging forgiveness.
It is a story, you said pouring another glass,
Which needs strong swearing words to go with it.
And for another while we sit still.
It’s getting dark, so dark, and this metaphysical shit
Makes my body a torch.
The room is getting lighter and lighter.
Both of us transfixed look at the naked truth as it stands,
Trying to put the pieces back together.
Our breathing stops.
Like two surgeons leaning over a nearly dead human
Trying to capture a better image of the tumour.
While everybody else goes to sleep
We look at each other still.
My eyes shine like in the old days
My mouth stained with red.
Mixed media: Maria Butunoi