A Poem in Rome from Home

Oh beautiful City,
we find love.
Pigeons shuffle between our feet,
a fairy tale,
a composer of music,
history,
walking.

Green grass grows
on an empty lot
and a single flower,
white on white canvas,
unpainted.

Simple faith
for girls without a teacher
and a big bad wolf.
Stones,
windows for shopping,
pillows for dreaming,
God always knows the truth.

Follow the puppet,
never tell a lie,
have lunch
inside a whales stomach,
swim.

Books.
Education.

The roof is a mountain
for a City
and a woman- alone
with only key
gifted from angels
and a fountain of wonder.

Each soul has it's own mystery to solve,
the context of our life,
faith and blood
from birth to death.

Out of the Box

Her head didn't fit
in the box they prepared.
They believed
they could press her down,
but she rose,
opening the lid,
lifting her ears
over the edge -
and her eyes.

The passers cast hooks
into the box.
Little fish bit and teased.
To this they were pleased,
jerking their line
snagging bits of hair
and cardboard.

They yanked hard,
till the box
collapsed - spilling.

Water ran over her body
as she was freed.
Little fish
flipped and squirmed
at her feet.

12/29/2012