• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 01

Erno’s house on the hill

One moment in the day,
when the glaring sun
drains color from the sky
we were talking about
the Hungarian house on the hill,
that it needs paint
and you suggested pink
bubble gum pink. You said
the house has no front door
and we all laughed
as you raised your hand
and offered us mints
from a box that resembled
a Rubik's Cube. Its signature
colors and your hand,
in the shimmering white
light, partly vanished.

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