Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

Claudiu Komartin

Something Happens There

you hear her scratching at the door, cleverly begging, short, halting breaths, to be welcomed in, and someone kindly asks you to allowher, “look, she’s beating herself against the door,”

but you know what this means, what hides behind her charm, and you don’t fall for it, your thought runs for vineyard slopes, in the light

of August, large clusters, translucent flesh, you invoke this memory and try to stay clung to her for a while, glasses start spilling all around you, chairs yield the floor to a fashionable dance, with a shoe someone pushes shards under the rug, others yelling about a miracle cure, “all this constitutes the atmosphere throughout,” you learned late that the rules change as they go, “who could have anticipated the horror” (she’s scratching and pacing angrily on the other side, awaiting your moment of weakness), you approach the mirror and appear bored, like you’d seen any other thing fleeing h a n d s e y e s c h e s t

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