...a story about migrating to Italy

Monday, March 12, 2012



i could feel it
atmosphere grew thin
peered down the highway
saw it walking
just a speck
dragging layers of black cloak
chalk cheeked deadpan
sickle end scratched
along the gravel
scraping fragments chipping away
haunting grinding pitch
that travels down the road
and travels up my spine

each morning felt the mourning
rise with every sun
and winged creatures danced
amongst clouds surrounding
white butterflies on riptides of the wind
circled my conscience
and the barbed wire fence
closed in on one side
whispering it is coming
as materialism caved in
crumbling away revealing
the core of the atmosphere
of the realm that i lye in

sunlight drapes my thoughts
melting them away
from the glare i cannot see
what they warn me of
and what i know
so i walk forward
and my gaze treads the earth
every thing matters i am fine
did not realise how close
until it speared and now
i am numb realising
my fears and how
real i could hear them

now it has walked past
traveling behind me
on the road although
i have chosen a place
on the gravel
and i sit and wait for what
if i keep walking will i
have to face it again
faceless cold pain
would i rather pause cause
the universe to wait
whilst i graze waste
it is coming

- Michelle Napolitano 1999

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