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La Piccioletta Barca - Issue 15

Issue 15 · January 2020

Stimulus: Pottery by Elizabeth Fritsch.

327 Brightnesses

327 Brightnesses

A summer child, I was born silent. Contemplative of the firefly, which I knew I would [as we all],­­ sooner or later, become. Aware of the awful of jars, the fright of cupped hands and cheesecloths, taut. The inexorable luminarias of us. Flightless–– A negligible...

The Burnt

The Burnt

I burn in a twirl of words, O, voice of Fire, voice of Love, voice of a language of Destruction, O, voice of a Seal that could kill Death, O, wreath and wrath of Word, Speak of thine spinning, Spell round me that I may in petals on the wind enjoy the sound’s...

Carving Out A City

Carving Out A City

I – A Dawn Rises Dawn was breaking over the mountains, its first sheen glancing off the peaks, and then slowly rolling down the slopes, washing over the forests. Below, a city lay asleep. And the dawn swept out across the sea. Rushed clear over still waters, spooling...

The Conquest

The Conquest

i. your mind is incapable of grasping the silence at the gate. your eyes are incapable of catching the lightlessness of this land. your strong legs step over the broken pots and stump-filled crag as if it were nothing. ii. something eternal is gleaming among the dull...

Hermits Silent Retreat

Hermits Silent Retreat

Lonesome dampness cavern dark; The hermits encompassing matriarch In Silence he ruminates his day- The weathered philosopher thinks as he may No distraction of humanities loud progress; To deaths tranquil door he makes egress.   Sean MacDonald when not working...

More than a Moth

More than a Moth

Sometimes, you cry for the very things you hate. This was the case when I—not older than ten, not younger than seven—watched my cat devour a moth. It seems like a pointless, unimportant moment, but it has always struck me with a demand to be explored. It begs to be...

Morning Likeness

Morning Likeness

Dawn creeps forward, a scout wriggling silently toward the edge of an enemy encampment. The yellow and orange that begin to bleed into the pale blue are the yellow and orange of memory, so that something utterly novel, a new day unlike any before it, raises tiny hairs...

Small Bodies Thrash On Cold Parquet

Small Bodies Thrash On Cold Parquet

You know a summer’s day when the bees come indoors only to lose their way. The walls are blank, unforgiving. Baffled, they start their death dance many miles from home – to the tune of clinking cutlery and voices from the patio and then the dinner bell. As if...

The Truth

The Truth

when the mirror was young and the skin around my eyes was taut I figured most things that stood to be true had written themselves into the teeth of time like a tombstone a tablet carried under the arm of Moses statues carved into white marble staring forever at museum...

The Ultimate Triumph

The Ultimate Triumph

One day he finished with the pitchers, the planters, the cooking pots. Some clay
was left over. He made a woman. Her breasts
were big and firm. His mind wandered. He returned home late.

Wanderers

Wanderers

Photographs from an ongoing project of exploration, of the wandering every-day human minds and souls.     The City - C.P. Cavafy Translated by Vasiliki Poula You said: “I will go, to some other land, some other sea. Another city will be found, better than...