Release by Alp Mortal
A sharing of the healing that was like a prize - a piñata - suspended from the zenith of a perfect arc made from the light breaking through the early morning mist that shatters into a billion scintillating pieces, which dive into the churning of the ocean and return as the blooming of the algae.
The deathly quiet between the lightning and the thunder of the pain of numb limbs coming back to life; the rattling last breath of fear and loneliness, the resurrection of a dying star’s heart;
The tattered edges of a spider’s web ripped by the leaping fox that escaped the hound;
The flowering of the almond tree, the swelling of the grape, the scent of lemons and olives on the night air;
The quiet sigh of a sleeping dragon, the creaking of a Fiat 500’s springs, the tangiest of the crusts of a thousand loaves;
The taste of the glue that sealed the letter;
The shudder caused by sweat cooling on the skin;
The sticky gel of the aloe vera applied to the back of the hand splattered by the hot oil that splashed like the flash of the smile in the candle light;
The petrifying fear of the total darkness, itself the space between the beats in the rhythm of the tarantella;
Turquoise shutters hiding rusty hinges;
Stains on tiles reminiscent of ink blots and the reddening welts of a bamboo cane;
Gritted teeth like the final tightening of the press, the straining cords of muscles in the death throes of their labours, blood coursing through veins like the flow of wine from the spout;
The final drop of oil, as heavy and soft as the purr of the sneaky thief, the glint of fish scales decorating the needle-sharp claws;
The gruff bark of a loyal companion;
The squeak of an old bearing, the rattle of a window pane;
The mustiness of undisturbed corners full of abandoned dreams.
The deathly quiet between the lightning and the thunder of the pain of numb limbs coming back to life; the rattling last breath of fear and loneliness, the resurrection of a dying star’s heart;
The tattered edges of a spider’s web ripped by the leaping fox that escaped the hound;
The flowering of the almond tree, the swelling of the grape, the scent of lemons and olives on the night air;
The quiet sigh of a sleeping dragon, the creaking of a Fiat 500’s springs, the tangiest of the crusts of a thousand loaves;
The taste of the glue that sealed the letter;
The shudder caused by sweat cooling on the skin;
The sticky gel of the aloe vera applied to the back of the hand splattered by the hot oil that splashed like the flash of the smile in the candle light;
The petrifying fear of the total darkness, itself the space between the beats in the rhythm of the tarantella;
Turquoise shutters hiding rusty hinges;
Stains on tiles reminiscent of ink blots and the reddening welts of a bamboo cane;
Gritted teeth like the final tightening of the press, the straining cords of muscles in the death throes of their labours, blood coursing through veins like the flow of wine from the spout;
The final drop of oil, as heavy and soft as the purr of the sneaky thief, the glint of fish scales decorating the needle-sharp claws;
The gruff bark of a loyal companion;
The squeak of an old bearing, the rattle of a window pane;
The mustiness of undisturbed corners full of abandoned dreams.