Plainwater

29th of August

Marrone zucchero



Early morning with the vendors. Colors and blue haze around white canvas. From the hotel, you feel as if they operate above time. In the photograph, you can see them setting up their carts like life-size Lego houses. In systems of beauty, everything has its place. I’m not in the picture, but you can see my friends. They are unwrapping the brightly colored scarves on the right. Bartering is an art I can only do when I am unsure. Salespeople can see want in people eyes, but I see something else. Eyes full of want, but not for beauty, burn hard around every corner.


uomini calling
flattery birthed from lust
answered with laughter


9th of September

Notte Biance



The world met beyond language. You can see their faces in the photograph. Their eyes reflect the lights of the stage. I stand to the left under the noise of song and drum of countries not my own. Matthew took the picture (he’s tallest). On the stage, you can see a Chinese boy in red tights lifted high over six others – his whole life to live thirty feet above the ground. Reminds me of a dream I had four years ago. Dona nobis pacem. I’m smiling. Tumbling always makes felice rise to the surface. So silly, like professional children. The man next to me isn’t. You can tell by the lines that his face has grown accustomed to frowning. What has he lost along the way that denies him the joy of laughter? What will he remember of this night? This night where all Roma stood under forgotten stars.



14th of September

To Nonno



grazie
madre dolcissima
regina degli angeli
la mamma di agostino

28.IV.2006



We went to the wall in the morning. The gray sky reflected in the plaques of hope. No pictures – faith cannot be photographed. In monotone, Shawn explained that the words were for God’s mother. I was not listening. She was lit by candlelight (red, like those of shrines). She made me think of the Church. The largest in the world, across the river from my bed, where I had gone two nights before. How had they been told they needed to come to Her – those whose words rest here? Mine was an email titled News. I had walked through the black. Pushed a rock uphill to pour out my heart. They left words in marble. How real faith, as real as cool gray stone.

Ci vediamo Grandpa.