Confectionery Clutching the oil of peppermintand green food colouringI run up the road to my friend’s house –her Mum puts two stoolsnext to the table so we are tall enough to sievea flurry of icing sugarstraight on to the formica with the addition of waterit turns as glossyas a rink without blades giddy with the scentwe…
breathe and /hold
lungs and belly
moon balloon full
It’s not that she wasn’t happy for her sister, far from it. Nadia only wished she could hold on to her for a little longer.
and what does it mean
that her blood still sings
through the Old Quarter
of my veins?
will you give me gentle hand grips and the space I need
to feel sorry for myself?
Around December, our grove
of banana plants grew heavy, saba begging:
to be picked, coated in brown sugar, wrapped
in lumpia wrapper, and fried in sugary oil.
you said it’s tradition in Spain that as the clock
strikes twelve we must scoff a grape a chime
one at a time, but quickly as any left over become
unsalvageable, each one a rotten, failing month.
i was scared to make this poem /
treat them right / they never
came close to meeting in life
When did writing
become such a warm meeting place?
Akademicheskaya Metro Station Sixty-four meters underground: vaulted ceilings whiter than eggshells, chrome shinier than any American diner. Pride of Lenin, who, mummified, did not see it open but extolled its nominal achievement by plaque five meters tall. On the escalator, my hand in a grey fingerless glove finds yours. A second couple kiss…
bathroom bucolic a pupil, dollop of toothpaste pink blue yellow cotton balls in the static light a gracious not swarming not fermenting pale May Ottavia Silvestri is a political science student that lives in Milan, Italy. In her free time she studies Mandarin and volunteers in a tiny cat shelter (hi Melinda, you’re my favourite…
In the Turkish supermarket, you search through baby peaches and it makes me feel closer to you.