FEAR

Mother,
gather for me the sound of the rain on grandfather's roof
tell me about the night when I discovered the thirst for the cliffs
and about how you detached the fire of the light
to allow our meeting with our first demons.
Remember our eternal stay in the nooks of the house
when grey afternoons still rained on the sand
and the moldy rain came with April
and I was not yet afraid.

by Andrea Cote

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