Lillian Baker Kennedy

~*~

The Music Box

(Sorrento) 

I go out searching 

like a lost earring

like one ear listening. 

I boarded the avian flight

flown

to a foreign city, a foreign language, 

by shopkeepers’ cobblestone alleys,

just like the one you gave me. 

You see how the world speaks – You 

in plate glass windows

reflection

I might have been absent

when you came to your birthplace. 

                                          Earrings

on birdlike morsels

dropped behind bureaus

or hindered in laundered pockets

swept up with the cat dust of kitchens.

I could scrub on my knees like a penitent. 

crumbled through black masks of palm,

the mountainous face

settled in sides, in the trough holes,

In the runoff,

us – a memorial. 

Threading the vetch untangled,

I mud-press the roots

of purple. 

I saw the pieta.

It shone, so lifeless. 

On a sidewalk, in Rome, on an incline,

a skirt sprawled, a shawl listing

toward the footpath,

a can, open for alms. 

I was moved 

by the absence of your eyes. I walked on

home, to beggars never called that,

rude stares and outstretched palms.

Why do you take cover? 
 
 
 

----

I run the flat escalator.

Late.  Catching up, flying backward,

into the arms of night falls, 
 
 
 
 

 

The dark-scarved women move mutely

down alleys to high noon clanging.

The waiters, attending, bow whipping

the cloth, crumbs garnered, ruffled,

the inlaid wood wound open, 

pulse of leaving, 
 

opera of the lost post,

or red Venetian,

seeps through

the honeycombed,

on polished walnut,  
 
 
 

entrata:  
 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

inside - tinkling metallic,

through glass – cavernous,  

the black half-hatch, 

sieve for a pin-pricked metal  

in a moth-eaten cloak,

the shotgun spread

~*~

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