Bookmark (0)
ClosePlease login

No account yet? Register

murano pickpik

Hello again,
though you are no longer living in
my small room with
the blue kitchenette,
or singing on the balcony
with the speckled, moth-eaten ferns.

I couldn’t help being unamused.
Pulling a face.
Sticking my tongue out
to the cold river, to you.

We talked about heads turning into tails,
and my mother’s silverware jumping out of
their drawer and marrying her jewelry.
I remember, I sing,
I wind a hook as you wade through
the waves,
but are always swept away by
the passing of a foreign boat.

Because of that,
because we fought on the staircase,
looted for candy and green marbles,
because you and I were only you and I,
you will always live on Murano,
cocooned in orange glass.

Bookmark (0)
ClosePlease login

No account yet? Register


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


You may also like

Submit Your Content

Member Login