Wound healer,
give me protection and divination.
The cure for sneaky worries,
I find,
is to do more, spend less
time with the demon thoughts,
my Achilles’ heel.
When fingers touch crumbly soil,
feathery leaves or furry heads,
I exist.
When senses capture
the might of the sunsets—
how the fleeting light morphs and how
the landscape changes mood—
they reveal the erasing power of evening:
hills disappear,
trees merge into a long mourning
ribbon of smoke.
The moon tonight looks like a wounded soldier,
all battles lost,
blood in the rivers.
Neither medicine nor magic can save you.
Yet you exist.
Poem and Photograph by Giada Gelli
Giada Gelli is an Italian librarian turned full-time mum. She lives in an old cottage in Ireland with her family, a dog, a cat, three hens and a frog. Her debut collection of Italian poems 'Sfumazioni: Poesie' was published in 2004 by Tuscan-based Ibiskos Editrice. Some of her poems in English have featured on Smithereens and Pendemic.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
