Saturday, February 25, 2017


Reviewing a montage
of Italian films,
and Roberto Rossellini
blinds drawn
this February
here in my garage
with an old scene
of a James Dean motorcycle
flashing its lights at dawn
my memory returns to me
of the tiny art theater
on Symphony row
in Boston
where after my music lesson
of harmony, solfeggio
strings and playing piano chords
an adolescent would go alone
to a two for one matinee show
after a having a meal
of a cheese croissant
with fish chowder
steak and potato
with pocket money
from my great aunt Sarah
then walk to the waterfront
from my apartment
in the day's enlarged sunlight
wishing to travel on swan boats
awakening by the opera balcony
opening as my cousin Rita
dressed in red
sings the Carmen arias
with the Habanera all day
going through my head
I'm ending Saturday night
with a poet's lonely words
in a deposit
of new diary entry
watching a bluebird
on a snowy Evergreen tree
from my sofa bed.

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