I told you his name duck press a minute ago. They gave it to us at the wedding. Put it down.
Yes, pregnancy is a surprise that will change your existence, make you a money machine. What is certain, however, is that he will gain and lose weight on command, until the third week. Then you have to deal with it yourself.
I don’t remember the exact moment I lost it. Exact hour and minute. One second before it was there and the next second it wasn’t: a significant difference. There are many variations in memory. With escarole or soup; with eyeballs and cucumbers. With a fried egg? Meh!
Feeling guilty is bad, he says. Open after the sun, listen. Gerbera petals, licorice and mallow: pop stars in search of oblivion. Do you recognize the bouquet? Celebrity comes with bitterness.
I’m watching the campaign from your parents’ house. Make some tea. The cat licks my scalp, the hair I removed that summer. You walk past me and touch me. You dreamed of being an entomologist, guests scattered like petals in a garden. The sun is there. Fortieth birthday celebration. I see a cropped Polaroid, collapsed in the drawers. Cheap drunks. They ran out of glasses, they can use bowls. Carefully! We are eating on the lawn tonight, it is October but warm. Who invited the bastard? The air is cold, go to the sun. The insect world naturally fascinates you: we are programmed to live in failure.
I miss fixing your purple tailcoat at dawn. The sun behind the clouds. To start the day, a plate of pulses and a whip from the government. Change of appearance.
No, I was joking. Keep your hands to yourself tonight. Many who have undergone surgery imitate my hairstyle.
Turn on the stove. I dismissed the servants: no mercy for troublemakers. Slow cooking, Gaugamela fried pappardelle, executed to stun guests. For display. Believe it or not, many amputees’ hair has ended up in pots and pans.
I feel stupid talking about you in the market. What was the need to pile garbage here? They keep asking me when you’re coming back. No wild boar, no mushrooms, I can improvise a rabbit ragout.
The seats you moved near the stage? I gave them to the taxman to settle. They forced you to leave me, they didn’t give you a choice. Don’t stop them. The tax man didn’t want them, not even my mother. I gave them to lame high-waisted pants: ruin. They won’t come to lunch, they didn’t warn, they just didn’t show up. As if nothing happened. Tears well up in my eyes. No, the diaphragmatic breathing you taught me doesn’t work.
Cradles gather before the sun.
Open the window, I need some fresh air. Three deep breaths to find inner peace. The child, a girl, died a few weeks ago. To distract me from sorrow, the body creaks: look how it hangs. But no, I only get drunk on days that start with M. Bags full of rags, my brother helps me as much as he can. Poor deacon, I feel sorry for him. I cover it with latrines, hug the sweet and sour pig and drag my feet towards the supermarket to save a single coin, hoping to get a cart.
Pathetic, with angular legs. Pains of a young vertebra. Warm beer is better than nothing. Next. I told myself that if I were an animal, I would be a duck: it is a bird, but it does not fly, it is not a fish, but when you pluck it, it makes you happy. We got wet at my sister’s house. I said another thank you. The service is so bad. Will you accept my dancing and acting again? And that winter day before you got in the car you said I love you. It’s not loud music, you heard it very well. Waitress, bring me another one. Frozen this time, please.
You have collected items in the shape of a seagull. I have over a thousand of them, all colors.
Memories are worse than dust. I saw my missoneist mother clinging to memories. I swore I wouldn’t end up like her. And now? Identical. What does it have to do with it, I didn’t say Mesozoic. They both dressed in draped Greek-style dresses. Then she with her addiction to pistachios, I wandered around with a bottle under my pillow.
She despised me and I sang to her. Anorexic, she chewed while crossing her legs, her favorite place was the couch. Don’t stand, cut a meter of warts into cubes, fry them and drain them on pillows in the kitchen. are you romantic But if you are a fossil.
You were right when you said I was like her. That I can set fire to hell. I, your lady devotion. A pig in the yard throws up half an onion, you give him a kilo of sage chopped with butter and he trots away amicably. what did you call him? Sauvignon. It’s a beautiful name, Sauvignon, it means sun in spring. Kind of obvious.
It hurts to hear the words of that day. Menu with paccheri. Al dente, dandy. Grate the ricotta, place the flake under the celery and push the spring onion into the pan. The volume of the fire does not frighten us. Decimated by the French fleet, we are a couple who know what they want and take it.
Years ago I was lying in bed, you were sleeping, I decided it was one of the best days of my life. I had a lot with you. Cheers! Antioxidants and ketchup to save your smile.
Bodies were everything and now the bass drum: hollowed out, topped with apricot, feta and blueberries. Useful for swollen legs and water retention. Purulent, in a small three-room apartment, a monument of memory. Full of maggots and cooked lentils. Like a sunset where I grow a skull. I wear resin satin. Alcohol has affected my voice as well as my body so I am pregnant with my second child.
Children on the street shout unintelligible curse words at me. They call me “Maharaja”, I think because of the turban I wear to cover my bald head.
We traveled through Turkmenistan with the Lancia Delta and the taste of cinnamon never left our mouths. Then Seoul, which tries to make our life great. We tried not to drive off the road at night. It’s always there duck press, which we received for our anniversary. It is of no use except for infusing duck juice, which the ladies like to banish from consumption.
The kids are playing in the street and I’m crashing in the woods looking for supplies. Keep your distance. Your directions in Ljubljana, your journeys, your lovers. France is a disgusting place. You don’t find nectar and you look for it elsewhere. And Ibsen, whose portrait you did not allow me to paint. I would season it with emulsified trout milk. The rain falls on the glasses on the terrace. Help me, let’s bring the chairs inside. Do not get wet. Do it your way.
Where did you put your mother’s money?
You can use it to buy a gift for children. You will see, in my paintings the body appears broken. You killed yourself at sea on ermine and gazpacho.
I hope they will bury us in my mother’s cemetery, near my grandparents.
Goodbye, coffee-stained love.
Drown me, if you haven’t already, in the rain in the glasses, with the only violence I hope to perceive.
The label recommends consuming veal offal cold. Only spiders and cobwebs are worse than a blooming placenta. And cracks.
Federico Dilirio