Journal of Italian Translation - Brooklyn College - Academic Home ...

I carried a thousand pictures in my head,
glorious moments reaching for heights,
before the moments fell,
before the leveling.
Diana Festa 43
All is equal in the end,
A la Recherche du Temps Perdu, only to retrieve
empires of the imagination
Separations
The room, a field of headlights crossing
the ceiling, the north wall,
before moving away.
Rumbles fade, others rush in.
Flitting bands of light shred into ribbons—
they trail your going,
my sacrifice
to let you go— how to stop you?
My legs gnarled in the effort.
Do not count all that have left,
departures along the way.
Loss is different, a vacuum, vast,
staring without eyes— our passion
an ancient tablet, a commandment,
you will not forget
moments mystifying the course of time.
What to remember justly?
Echoes without voice, a story recounted,
lives parting—
light years uncountable.
What to forget?
Dido on the pyre,
tongues of fire scoring the soul to banish
remnants of desire, block
retinal awareness,
betrayal.
Dido the queen unbegging:
did she call him
in the unbearable moments of combustion?
What do we know of her struggle against loss,