It starts with a spot.
One tiny spot.
Soft and gentle,
red, transparent and liquidly
like a drip from a freshly
pressed strawberry juice.
The skin unveils the doors,
and suddenly I’m on the boat
the boat slightly gliding, swaying and my
head tilts to enjoy crimson landscape.
For a minute I think there is
a sunset, reflecting blushing chicks in the water.
Warmth tingles my eyes.
Finally I am wearing that red dress:
red dress made of pleats cascading over the stairs.
The stairs, neatly arranged blocks for kids
to jump, run with their tiny feet,
to scatter red petals and
peals of spring radishes.
The dress grew with each waterfall
and the breath, the breath is a
variegated butterfly trapped in the glass jar.
Maja S. Todorovic