Monsoon
Simon Anton Niño Diego Baena The drizzle is meant to stay for a while. My breath is heavier. The stillness is gutted again. The vista bleats. Here I imagine myself out there walking in the rain. With a black umbrella, of course. Intoxicated with grief. With loss. Smoking cigarette after cigarette, a scarecrow that is ever morose, as the entire city heaves like a graveyard. In the open— the fog reminds me of a wound, how many times has she said this before. An overcast sky. For months: clouds are heavy with uncertainty, I'm sure of that—you ask the ravens, the cicadas, the blown out leaves, which only rustle against the wind when it speaks, if you don't believe me. |
About the author:
Simon Anton Niño Diego Baena currently lives in the Philippines. He spends most of his time on the road with his wife, Xandy. Some of his works have already been published in The James Franco Review, The Bitter Oleander, After the Pause and its forthcoming Anthology, The Blue Hour Magazine, Mascara Literary Review, Shot Glass Journal, Off the Coast, Red River Review, Eastlit, The East Bay Review, Philippines Free Press, and Philippines Graphic Magazine. |