Lutto — Sam Parisi
I came to their plastic crucifix palace
Wearing white shoes and what's new.
I followed my father through the tacky timber door
With a firm fast bolt
He sledged his shake; angled his head
In "condoglianze".
I spoke softly to seal their suspicion;
Spoke as though I hid the language
Behind my tongue
Then sat down on an empty chair.
Against a white holed wall
I watched their low to the ground slouch.
The women sat in the second room
Doused in black from head to toe
Ruing Satan with his clothes.
My mother seemed like someone else's sister
In a lap of luxury, while they lit their grief
With tales from light years away.
Across the vanquished seas
She lived and died.
I never knew her—beyond a black and white photo.
But all the while was learning
How to read
The gaudy patterned floor
Trying to pray for a woman I never saw.
I sat instead and studied the room
Through the prey of my periphery.
I hunted their gestures
Seeking to slay them
With some sophisticated slant on things—
But there was too much to admire.
Renting — Graham Rowlands
The night of the day they
moved all their furniture in
they trimmed the glory vine
& partied under the pergola.
The few oldies were old enough
to be parents sussing out the place
or just parents as welcome here
as they had been elsewhere.
The disco beat kept beating
but low through the a.m. hours.
How many, how many partners or
changing partners, I've no idea.
If I said Hello, they said Hello
but I was the wall next door. They
never looked to see if I was looking.
Once, I was up & about early enough
to hear a carload roll home &
then a vomiting under my window.
Are you okay? one of them asked.
Sorry, she said quietly. That's all.
Not wanting to be misunderstood
I managed not to open my window
& say Bless you, my child.
They moved out in slow stages.
Perhaps they didn't want to go.
After moving out, they came back
for one small round wooden table.
I didn't see what they opened
I can only guess what they toasted
but they took the empties with them
along with the table. Vale.