In Tuscany
Outside the duomo, pigeons peck at the rice
Friends and family threw at the newlyweds,
Who, on their honeymoon, are having
Their first fight since becoming betrothed,
A gleeful, exhilarating fight that later
Tonight will crumble into lovemaking.
An hour ago, a man everyone is kind to,
Who never learned to read or write,
Blew all the candles out and closed
The massive doors. Sometimes he dreams
Of a fire he is responsible for, only to wake
And realize it was only a dream.
In the dark church, Mary Magdalene
Sets down the jar of oil she's been holding
All day and combs out her long, unruly hair
Like a girl combing her hair in the mirror,
Remembering the way he looked at her.
In one of the houses you pass on your way
Home someone is singing, but when
You stop to listen, they stop.
1 Comment
No posts
I love how this poem takes me back to the streets of Florence. Not sure if that's the Duomo you describe here, but for me, it feels like there.
Lovely poem, great story telling.