To S.

To S. Gabriella Garofalo (bio) Help silence grow like a blue flower,It's so sensitive—Father, never in my life will she be ableTo utter the very words your Son did,Please don't ask me why, can't you seeThat every watch goes on its own,Limbs have no sound if her soul lifts upAs hard as summer grass, greedy for rain—But stay put, your fears will die, says the moonWho looks so very unfazed,But why can't she lose the old habitOf lighting you up with random words,Why can't she argueWith stars fed up with their job?Just a waste of time,Like all those mazes against rocks,Roots, the green hoping to riseIn a near future, maybe next week—Move, see the light, your land is angry,You have no shelter, no rocks,As they've fired you, you rib of Adam,You crashed womb,No god will hit your land—He'll cast out the moon, the grass,Claims, emotions,As soon as the tents make roomFor a feeble sky,Only then life will hold your hand,How very unusual, and, as ever,How very wrong her rhythms, and choices—Yet you don't feel like shooing her away,She isn't a nuisance, only shadows are,All that white burgling youIn railway stations, waiting rooms,If nobody cared, particularly the trees End Page 193 Going wild in dances all over the garden,How you hated "em,To think that now you are staringAt an almost lovely demise,At least fantasy breathes in her, along with words—Or the flower you mentioned, a hushed silence. End Page 194 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. Copyright © 2024 University of North Dakota