When I was 4, a circus came off in Dristor neighborhood.

She was a girl of my age. Her mother resembled a goat. Her father was a cripple.

The fortune teller wore a black hood on her head.

It was a great show.

I returned home. My father was a carpenter. My mother rode an orange bicycle.

The doctor said: “Boy, you are a freak. You’re very thin. Not enough iodine in your drinking-water.”

Mother used to call me “Scheala”. If you ask me, it was a pretty catchy name.

Today, we’re all dead. We smile on photograph albums: Doctors, goats, people, orange bicycles.

Just think about it.


9 thoughts on “Maidan

  1. Tare! Go for it (both of them). Si eu ma gindeam sa fac o incercare cu japoneza. Dupa ce mai avansez un pic la turca 🙂 And then, my friend, behold the world’s poetry unveiled!

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