«I used to write in Italian because the teachers where we went to school in Andreis used to hit us and tell us that to speak our own language was a sin and that we’d go to hell if we did […]. Then I began to write in Andreano: Andreano is a beautiful language, brimming with honey […]. Not know the Italian I only know sixty words and have to go down to Montereale to reaquaint myself with them; the last time it was “ossimoro” (oximoron) but I’ve already forgotten what it means. Until a few years ago, I wrote poems nude in front of the mirror. I filled drawers and pockets with my poems. Then, thanks to a few kind souls, I got them published. I continued because winter nights in Andreis are long and cold […] I write becuase I like words: tree, dog, bean, pumpkin … recently words, I could eat».
