At the Fountain: by Adina Richman

Land of gladiators and Michelangelo
Roman ruins, streets of water, pasta putenesca
History, mystery, beauty and romance

Under fragrant wisteria
In a rose trellised park corner off the piazza
Is a pond, with a fountain, dappled gold and green

Too perfect to exist, it must be a movie
A woman with a lion’s mane made of raven wings
That spills gracefully, playfully, over bare, marble shoulders
Tempts her Marcello, or Antonio, or Giuseppe
To kiss in waters carpeted by tourists’ copper wishes
Glowing warmly under a technicolor moon

Different scene at high noon:
Boys play cowboy in the park, kicking up dust
Pretending to drown Indians while ducks quack,
Church bells ring,
Happy daffodils sway
Smiling young mothers shoo bumble bees from
sleeping babies in prams
Under a canopy of wisteria
I saw three boys beat another almost to death

Blood arcing from his face
Graceful as the water in the fountain
Dancing in the sky
Ruby droplets spinning in the sun
Crashing, splashing, exploding bombs
On ancient stone, silent and indifferent as the day they were set,
All those years ago


copyright 2009 Adina Richman, all rights reserved

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