This year the rain did not fall.
Cold air did not arrive. I did not
shut windows, pull down blinds.
I did not have to wear a jumper,
wrap a scarf over my mouth.
I do not have to reply to notices,
letters, neighbours. I do not need
an evil eye on my door, my steps,
the path. I do not have to count days,
argue. We are not there anymore.
by Ion Corcos.
Editor’s Note: Sometimes, the best way to describe a thing is to detail all of what it is not. This poem’s emotional impact slips in through the denials and enjambed lines.
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