Bianca come la neve

An excerpt from “Bianca come la neve ” by Patrizia Poli

“White as snow” my father said, “so I want this daughter of desire.”
My mother sewed by the window, she pricked herself, drops of blood wet the cold pillow on the windowsill. She then turned to my father, put down her work, held out that diaphanous hand that already foreshadowed her death: “Yes, white, like snow” she said with her soft smile, “but also red, like blood. She will be ours, she will be part of you and me, she will be the imprint of our love.”
I was born with clear skin, blue veins of noble blood and red lips.
The women who…