One Year

Last year
at this same time
we were packing
to go to Greece.

The islands of
honey and stone,
left the ocean, and basil, and
olives in our soul.

Tinos held the smell
of warm sun -
baked chamomile, growing
between the earth and
veins of green marble.

Aegina, the shaded home
of olive orchards
and cyprus trees.

And now,
now I am cut in
half with pain.

O Virgin,
O Nectarios,
what has happened?

Who chose to blow our
world apart and steal
our little girl-gift
from Glinda’s womb.

Who did not choose -
did not choose to help.

All I see
passing before the eyes of
my heart are
the churches,
the seaside,
the taverns,
and the tired
worn people of the
earth; of the faith.

How happy we were;
how full of joy, and
oil and wine and mirth.

How dry our hearts were;
dry of tears and filled with
laughter and sex.

That joy,
that joy now
lets me weep;
cuts me in half to weep.

Grieving,
grieving,
grief.

The harrowing beauty of
the small hearty flowers and
strong gnarly herbs of that
place, and our joy
lets me,
no,
makes me weep.

Ciao!

+Tom