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The Postman (Il Postino)
Living Poetry at OBS:

Mom Meet Rosa González (Beatriz's Mother):

"How could words be bad?" Beatriz said, hugging the pillow.

"There isn't a drug in the world worse than all that blah-blah-blah. It makes a village innkeeper feel like a Venetian princess. Later, when the moment of truth arrives, when life catches up with you, you'll realize that those words are no better than a bad check. I would much rather have a drunkard in the bar grab your ass than have someone tell you that your smile flies higher than a butterfly."


"You are as humid as a plant. You have the kind of fever, my child, that can only be cured in two ways: a good beating or a little trip." She let go of the girl's ear, pulled a suitcase out from under the bed, and threw it on the mattress. "Start packing!"

"No, I won't. I'm staying here!"

"My dear, rivers carry stones, and words, babies. The suitcase!


"Don't be a fool!" her mother exploded. "Now your smile is like a butterfly, but tomorrow your tits are going to be two cooing doves, your nipples two juicy raspberries, your tongue the warm carpet of the gods, your behind the sails of a ship, and that thing burning there between your legs the furnace where the proud, erect metal of the race is forged. Now, good night!"

(---from The Postman by Antonio Skármeta)

That's Beatriz's widowed mother. For those visitors who have been around the track a few times and welcome such a stark take on love, send your metaphors to the Mombot and she'll respond in kind.

rose Draw from The Well of Metaphors


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