photograph of a wedding, 1948
was the moon over Korifi
when it rained that morning
did the land sweat when it released
my grandparents to one another
there are many things I remember
they loved
roars of spring water
clouds shaped as donkey eyes
do i collect lost voices
from black-&-white photographs
beg the faces to say something
real about love
our house splits and flexes
a stray dog
do i pray to images
language under a flame
dare the artifacts
to speak out of my hands
procession in cycles
i.
a cricket clings to a curtain
i want the glue of its legs: impale me there
or the village of open windows
almond trees ripe below fire & flower boxes
perhaps rotted figs fall for sound of tin when it rains
when the sun is out of chemical
ii.
we hammer & nail our lives
together loose wood
hangs from the roof nearly
sunset when the only music stops
iii.
at the hospital
my mother feeds you ice cream
with a baby's spoon
your tongue dry
& hardened
we're beginning to howl at the edges
of the bed: you drool
eyes close & stick to themselves
i peel the lids & let them loose
still they are not free
iv.
down the aisle my brother lifts the casket on his shoulder
men carry your body past me & out
down the aisle down the aisle
Nikoletta Nousiopoulos holds an MFA from New England College, and now resides in Cape Cod. Her work has appeared in elimae and South Jersey Underground. contact
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