The lights flicker and I fall to the ground in the tolling darkness.
They’re not meant to last very long, these votives, these penny candles.
The sky on one side stayed bright as day, but along the other it was dark and purpling like a bad bruise. The trees were caught up in the glow, but their leaves were all turned upside down, stark and white against the dark sky. The weather was coming, it was coming fast.
Roma Trilogy: a poem and paintings from Pia De Girolamo
The sixth trip up the stairs I see them. Sometimes you can go the whole day without seeing anyone, and I thought it was going to be like that. Little did I know.
Two poems from Amy Thatcher.
I Hermes stand here at the crossroads by the wind beaten orchard, near the hoary grey coast; and I keep a resting place for weary men. And the cool stainless spring gushes out.
They were born ten months apart. Their mother was the most beautiful woman in the world, and their father was a capricious and powerful man with appetites like a toddler. He wanted […]