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

Journal of Italian Translation
Still incandescent from the breath of heaven—
What infinite possibilities of joy
Does her tranced gaze command?
Inscrutable, her face; her plaited hair
Coils upon a pliant arm. She brushes
Succulent fruit from the yielding branch.
There is no serpent anywhere.
[Reprinted from American Arts Quarterly]
Last Words
Leaned close, to speak through your sedated sleep,
Hoping you’d hear my words, the last you’d keep
With you, wherever it is you have to go.
I told again of the paradise we know—
You, young, laughing, hand trailing the stern
As I pull on the oars and we glide on
Toward Pond Island across the glittering bay,
Our private continent to explore. Now we
Have on a ledge one seal for companion,
We’ll strip, plunge in the pond warmed by the sun.
Then climb the hillock, seek our mossy place.
Two becoming one in our embrace—
But why do sky and bay darken to black,
The island disappear in silvery mist?
I must press on, there is no turning back. . .
On your floating bier you lie at rest.
I vow I’ll not abandon you, we’ll go
Together wherever it is you have to go,
And steer us toward insufferably white
Shrouds of fog. . .
Pierced by spears of light,
My eyes, prized open, recognize a room,
A dresser, mirror, jewel case, eau de parfum. . .
Ownerless now. And I, adrift, alone,
Feel words cut in my heart, as on a stone.
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