It was a simple Monday. Of those who start with burning coffee and itchy eyes. This one will end with a blazing sky and drowning pupils. The pretty fault with sincerity. To these humble words which, while pretending to seek nothing, find everything. In the absence of the captain didn’t let us down. That Monday when we started reading it, nor the following days. The latest collection of poems by Cécile Coulon unearths what we want to silence, forget, minimize. For comfort, for flight, for pain. It unearths the fragility of intimacy, the cracks in the heart, the big questions and the flowers that grow back following winter. Without misery and with fair modesty.
