A bowl of boiling soup,a pinch of grated cheese,a glass of dry Lambrusco.Here the dark five monthshave just begun, they thinkfor one last time, in the end.Waiting for the broth to coolwhile eyeing black and whitephotos strewn on the couch.Feelings resurface I cannotuse, although I loved themonce, as I fail to remember.Day by day year after yearthe night stays a younglingwhile recollections go stale.Flavor of … Continue reading Rice Soup by Alessio Zanelli