Journal of Italian Translation

Gregory Pell/Davide Rondoni
[hurled
your baby
the nothingness
of the fourth floor, oh what wind, what breath
what gold, trust in life itself in the dark
but to save him
away
away from there, in a gasp.
you burned maternally.
And as he fell
But your arms on the windowsill
before turning back to carbon and in a recollection
were comets,
Brooklyn bridges of love
in the night outside of Milan.
And I have taken them
[from you,
lady, leave those arms
to this faraway dance,
to the music that I and you
from two shores in the shadows eternally share.
Michelangelo’s Pietà, train car (Avrebbe amato chiunque)
Upon returning from Rome, tunnels
must be traveled,
many dark, flashes, odd
fractures of light.
And the body’s silences in these fast trains
It’s hard to recognize one’s own face
in the flash that photographs it onto the glass,
magnesium eyes from over the years.
The guy who for the whole trip
stares at the sealed bag in front of him,
the girl with the dyed hair
and a pierced lip
who wants to tell her life story to a stranger.
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