Adulthood
If I write my biography someday, I won’t forget to report my
hatred for dye houses; they are spiteful, and when they returned
the last children’s clothes, without wings, we got quite ill and
when we recovered, we felt awkward and strange, like the ones who
have disappeared for years, and when they return, they make excuses
that the garden was far away. Where had they gone? Unknown.
Only now, mother cries more often.
Manolis Aligizakis 