Читать книгу Repetition Nineteen - Mónica de la Torre - Страница 35

One. No din, a flash.

A sip of a hot drink made from roasted and ground seeds found bitter

after swallowing.

A bottomless pit.

Twofold roads, one path

and shut eyes, unawake.

Two looking glasses are how many?

With dusk come lights.

Two children, now three.

Three is oath, is stillness,

a chum, a foe.

Three truths, three lies.

Four times the speaker said nothing.

Four and two are the same.

Having asked five times

why she’d stay there, she set the bed on fire

and left, letting it burn.