Prose poem by Irina Moga; drawing by Tatiana Arsénie
There was the time we spent together: time made of puffed up silences, suspended - just like the branches of the trees and the effaced gambrel of the roof.
Eroded shapes, bearing the brunt of our words; salty marshes in the distance, closing in on the sea that we knew would be a possible exit.
An old house, with boarded up windows and doors and creaking baseboards; tiny pieces of sand dollars nestled between rusted hinges and locks.
But there was no immediate sea, of course.
This poem was originally published in the online literary magazine Les Femmes Folles edited in Nebraska.