AN HALF
Where I live, I have one eye only
and a heart that seems not to be
entire.
It languishes slowly under a socio-cultural disguise.
I’m a morning person
trapped in the neon light of nightlife.
My sight perishes but the vision gets wiser
when I stop under a blinding sun
to hear closely to the sound of the pouring rain,
Where I live my heart was cut
when I was six years old
an ogre stole that little piece that still survive
buried under a fat land under the herons flight
– silent keepers, moving quietly as they’re walking
on eggs.
Perhaps my other eye has tried to follow that
tiny piece of heart, with highest dismay;
maybe it’s in Mexico City now, on the rooftop
of a ochre house, prisoner of the stars,
hung to the tail of the day.
For all I know, is the naked pearl
hunted by marine monsters in the Atlantic
underwater cities.
If only, if only, we are used to say.
But here where I live, nobody cares.
They cut trees as hearts, equally.
Scientists and doctors supervise
United Against The Morning Light
that spreads upon a dumb level ground
violently speaking in silence.
Cristina Patregnani is a poet from Italy. She writes both in English and Italian and she leads a literary collective project named R I V I S T A which has the aim to create a writers and poets communities all around the world, translating poetries and other works from Italian to English and vice-versa. You can check out her works (poetries and artworks) on Instagram @francaramen.