Sicilian grass the braids on the stone women who have guarded the Acropolis for thousands of years the Capuchin monk and the bodies hung like cured meat to dry in the catacombs memento mori near is you twitching in the train seat next to me Jad Abumrad in my ear the tiny old couple melting into the seats across from me the old man’s baleful eyes watching me his ear hair dialing a secret tune the woman crying so no one can hear the sweat in between my breasts even though I’m cold your red woolen hat pulled down low because you hate the furrows between your eyebrows a tiny shop selling blue-glazed ceramics of anchovies bug eyed and shimmering you bought me one as a keepsake all these, this a postcard moment I might send you Taormina to Catania And Saint Agatha raped somewhere nearby her breasts cut of rather than submit to marriage gods that wound, taunt, desire, ride chariots, drive back armies an elephant saint anchovies pottery found columns heaved mosaics inlaid a church and a mosque both the holes in stone so that blood would drain away violent-colored past now whitewashed ruins and tour-guide anecdotes
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