Doriana climbs the hill each Friday
to the fish stall in the market,
her Co-op shopping bag
full of silence.
It came into the house
through the narrow Door of the Dead
the day they carried Sergio
down the stairs.
She thinks she’s transparent,
her outraged heart faltering
in a viscose blouse; surely
everyone sees?
The little glazed Madonna
on the wall is wrapped in blue.
Swifts make empty loops
across a white sky.
Hollow footsteps
on the cobbles; bitter taste
in every sip of coffee.
Surely, everyone reads
the intricate embroidery?
Silenzio, worked in silver thread
on the long black banner
that floats behind her.
.
Alex Josephy
.