In Europe

I’m leaning
on a pillar
under a high
squinch arch,
breezy
brown leaves
swirl along
the colonnade,
dust my sandals.
dear palermo,
bella palermo,
dear trastevere,
I’m covered
in commas,
I’m wasting water
roman-style,
cool chalky water
I’m letting it flow,
I’m in science road
by the sandstone
devil fountain
that spouts a trickle,
imagining
I’m walking up
viale di trastevere,
I point
to my ‘wound’
my shoulder
my ‘sin’ like
an early christian
martyred
for a living,
bones bound
with fraying rags.
my one year
in a thousand years,
dear chrono,
your iron cross
upright atop
a potshard hillock,
I’m there
on the summit,
it’s flat like a mesa,
there I imagine
my balm,
my beauties –
in a kitchen
in europe,
licking
the harissa
in europe
anywhere,
white tiles
to the ceiling,
a sprinkling
of soap suds
glistening
in a dark
autumn sink.
dear cerveteri,
I’m standing, quiet
and still,
inside a tumulus
covered in grasses
and wild flowers.
the bus
has broken down,
I’m walking back
to ladispoli,
in the distance
a bird flock swarms
in folds & turns,
in geometric patterns
like a screen saver.
swift evening rain
coming across
from the coast.

by Pam Brown

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