Poem by Nicoleta Onofrei

When I told Peter and Paul that I can’t breathe, they told me to wait.
When i showed them that i can’t speak, they told me to wait.
When I couldn’t see nor show, they told me to wait.
When I began waiting, meekly, in my place, they got scared.
Some people, like Peter and Paul, are afraid. When their fear passes. Along comes my fear. A long fear. Like a cockroach. Plus an ear wig. Plus a darkness. Plus an abyss in a street. Plus... equals a fear. Like theirs, somehow. Somehow different.
Peter and Paul ask me, now that their fear has passed, whether i could breathe. Whether. I could speak.
Whether i could see and show.
Now I am afraid.
Peter and paul ask me: what are you afraid of?
We have to be sure. We have to wait.
When. There is nothing to be afraid of. When. A drop is just a drop, a rain on a window, on a bed table. When. A clock is just a device that shows you the hour and gives signals for you to wake up. When these happen, someone laughs.
When these happen, someone can’t breathe, see, speak. Just hear the laughter. Unable to move.