How To Take The Salt Out Of A Kiss – Réka Nyitrai
April 2, 2021
A yellow-beaked cuckoo lays an egg in the nest of a black-beaked cuckoo. Rain clouds hatch from it. One hundred years in the future a still-life artist becomes famous due to his oil paintings depicting the smell of umbrellas never touched by rain.
A thunder gives birth to an armful of roses. A poet examines the placenta and finds fragments of stardust. Later he uses the lunar fragments to craft butterfly wings.
A funeral made of feathers cause everyone who attends it to believe they are a hymnal. Every page of the hymn book is covered with moss. Yet, a sharp autumn wind continues to write down new sacred songs.
• Pull out a blue snake from a closed umbrella
• Herd the clouds into a bird that never flew
• Harvest the dreams of seven weeks spent alone, under a tree
• Sweep the ants back into the ghost’s ponytail
• Make a spell on a tulip carved on a gravestone
• Take the salt out of a kiss
Last night I dreamt about a planet made of eggshell crumbs and another made of small river pebbles.
Seemingly, on both planets it was spring. Early spring. I could hear a cuckoo singing. Still, I could not clearly distinguish from which of the two planets I was hearing the call of the cuckoo. It was a joyous, yet sad calling.
When I woke up my bill was yellow. I wanted to cry out your name, but I could not utter a word. All I was able to do was to sing.
At the beginning it is a dot.
A red dot in her stomach.
Then it becomes a ball.
A fireball in her throat.
The rabbit hiding inside the mouth
of the little girl
is ready to jump out.