To M.W.

by Gabriella Garofalo

A motionless warm air
Old haggards stuck in food and ailments
Flyers taped on the light poles, showing mislaid kitten-
Your die hard habits, October, you old maverick
Don’t we know your elegant gaslighting
Has form and attitude, much to the chagrin of the waves Who never look smart
Hard as they try
Of a light you keep stalking until she stumbles
And hunts an alien wind to get you
To end it with your winter before it goes green-
But will it ever be over, you wonder
The sea of doubts and problems
That filthy loot from words and wombs-
Her soul? Well, playing defense as ever
Just like those deadly woods when a rebel air
Conquers the clouds, and the seed looks like
A second-hand choice, maybe a fallback-
So, sprinkle a bit of light on the sky
Lest your days haunt souls worse than creepers
Impervious like mothers’ love when they exact
A blue and red shine, only you are bit short of light
And can’t feel the blue or shaky branches
Between cracked skies and tattered nights-
A battlefield for Angels as everyone is blind
To mercy for sneaking animals, or falling eyes:
So, change your mind, wind, once you chose
A dissolving light, but something went awry
So, careful now, don’t lose your head
And you, light, stop stalking falls
Missing books, and a lost recurrence be your aim
Stand still, just for a change, take your time-
Two sides to every story, as they say
But I gather you can’t say once in a blue moon
As tonight she’s sporting a gaudy orange
To disguise the many junctions of barren boulders
Your seething departures to whom you are so very kind
As you are to clouds, waves, your sky

Gabriella Garofalo

Born in Italy some decades ago, Gabriella Garofalo fell in love with the English language at six, started writing poems (in Italian) at six and is the author of these books Lo sguardo di Orfeo, L’inverno di vetro, Di altre stelle polari, Casa di erba, Blue Branches, A Blue Soul.





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