His radiance once burned razor sharp, directed blue and laser thin
as through an ophthalmoscope to my exposed eye, leaving me blurry
and oversensitive, a light hangover during which normal sensation
overwhelmed my receptors, I could not protect myself or close
my pupils.
Continue Reading »Posted in Love, Sunset | 2 Comments »
The vows we made failed to account for failure,
disingenuous as dryer sheets hung for stinging wasps.
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When we are naked, we are unwritten…
We only want to be written.
– Orlando White, Discourse
I cross cobbled streets, enthralled by street art, modern images adorning walls,
utility box covers, traffic signs, there for every passerby, uncontained by museums
Continue Reading »Posted in Art, Florence, History, Women, Writing | 2 Comments »
Note: On the night of November 4, 1966 the Arno overflowed, reaching 10 feet above street level. It filled many of Florence’s historic streets, museums, churches, and libraries with mud. After the disaster, citizens and foreigners living in Florence took to the streets, museums, and libraries to salvage masterpieces and manuscripts from the mud, in the most uncomfortable conditions, to assist with the massive spontaneous cleanup effort. They were called Gli Angeli di Fango – Mud Angels.
Revisionist textbooks muddy the waters, stories change with time,
each teller leaving their mark, some etch it on the wall, a “never forget”
cautionary warning: rivers will turn to rapids, rush and overflow, torrents
of water will mix with oil from upturned cars, will submerge church
pews, swallow statues, erase manuscripts, threaten to wash away
every last supper. Tombs of patriarchs never meant for burial at sea
will sink; Michelangelo and Machiavelli’s inscriptions read by bottom
feeders, Dante seeming to float among cars, mud and sewage, the four stone
lions and their shields on which he stood invisible, the stone poet’s slippers
poised to walk on water.
Continue Reading »Posted in Flood, Florence, Natural Disaster, River, The Arts, The Shoah | Leave a Comment »
I am on the balcony before it begins. Achromatic darkness,
the sky tangible, reaching back to my outstretched fingers, pressing
on my face. A steady hum of cars, the clack and clangs of the train yard
trill, chirrup, cheep and chur.
Continue Reading »Posted in Birds, Hummingbirds, Longing, Love | 2 Comments »
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