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At the Edge of the Rain

At the Edge of the Rain

by Cristina-Monica Moldoveanu

Copyright 2016

by Cristina-Monica Moldoveanu

Shakespir Edition


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my one track-mind …

the winter gold

of yesteryear grasses

winter evening

the old woman takes off

her last hairpin


the stillness of a moth

on my closet mirror

New Year’s Eve

the entrance clock is set

on summer time

homewards my childhood aspen is missing

Christmas dawn

counting empty spaces

on the sky

intensive care

a blooming chestnut

casts its shadow

brighter stars

through the window's blinds --

jasmine in bloom

growing old…

the same surprise

in my Kinder Egg

hospital window the whole horizon in a glass with water

moonlit mirror a teenage girl tiptoes

autumn chill

I leave my neck button


night train

I split the uncut pages

in my book

dinner alone

my knife sharpener’s

rusty wheels

this natural mobile-free place I keep calling home

honeysuckle in bloom -

only my hand fan stays


old things

going into nowhere …

autumn smoke

after your departure

the same roaring waves

in every seashell

deep into autumn

it does not matter

the colors of our hair

leaf after leaf hiding the barren seeds

memories …

a child’s finger follows

rivers on the map

under the tree

with its roots aboveground

I just sit and wait

this tender age

when you always choose

same hiding place

unknown city

I flip a coin

on a dead-end street

grandma’s room

only the flicker

in my plush puppy’s eyes

against my cane

the same wind blows

North or South


how could I heal

my dreams of you?

church floor --

children’s knees

in white stockings

morning sadness

the soft pink

of cold lime tree tea


the scarecrow welcomes

a late butterfly

a woodpecker’s nest

in our cherry tree -

empty rocking chair

finally spring

raining through a hole

in my shoes


he memorizes

my hand lines

hot night

wearing one of my teenage

night gowns

sprouting potatoes

once I believed

in second chances

New Year’s Eve

another short-circuit

in my living room

rolled-up carpets

counting the days

since I had a guest

my way back home


where a creek used to flow

the hazy shade of youth perfume at the bottle’s bottom

the higher he gets

the bluer his wings --

white crane


the scent of cinnamon

in grandma’s Bible

missing snow

I make and remake

a paper ball

a pebble in my shoe the pain of going home

a child blows a whistle

with a leaf

summer begins

mother’s old vase

a few rose petals

stuck to the bottom

family album

grandma’s finger points

to an empty place

old drugstore smell

butterfly nets

in my dreams


the way this sunset melts

into my red tea cup

melting ice

my porcelain ballerina

still dancing

silent night

a child unbinds

the front door’s chain lock

autumn sun

through the window

my fingerprints

no more choices --

I wear the same black headband

as when my hair was black

first fog -

I find my way

out of the main road

abandoned doll

facing the rain


towards northwest

between windowpanes

a frozen quince

writer’s block

a heartfelt haiku

in red ink

no address

just an old photo

in an envelope

At the Edge of the Rain

  • Author: Cristina-Monica Moldoveanu
  • Published: 2016-01-11 02:40:24
  • Words: 612
At the Edge of the Rain At the Edge of the Rain