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La Piccioletta Barca - Issue 17

Issue 17 – march 2020

Stimulus: Photograph of beekeepers in Mexico, taken by National Geographic’s Nadia Shira Cohen.

All Pieces

the afterdark

the afterdark

in afterdark we crawl. cold bee buzz and rotting staircase. we catalogue extinction and collapse. the sky grows flatter, whiter, dwindles into river. knotty ropes of stars slope downwards. lanterns slice through sooty caves. from the bleak half songs rise; gleams of...

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Bank of America

Bank of America

Atti looks at me with eyes that tell me he is hungry.  I unbuckle him from his booster seat and tell him that I will give him some cereal when we get home.  He smiles at me with his long lashes and the eyes of a doll.  I don’t tell him that it will be dry because we...

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The Beekeeper

The Beekeeper

When my father turned 40 my mother planned a party, a surprise, she taped forty shiny silver dollars to a small tree, the large coins hung, suspended from the tips of the branches, from a distance they appeared to float and dance. And that year my father began keeping...

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Beekeeping

Beekeeping

Plants have always been a favorite subject of mine, to photograph or write about, to endeavor to keep alive and coax into thriving. I have a tattoo of a flower on my arm even. Their symbology, in the language of the visual, the meanings imparted through different...

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High Tide In Wilmington

High Tide In Wilmington

I’m sitting on the front porch of the dead beekeeper’s house near downtown Wilmington, North Carolina, waiting for the police to arrive. Beside me, Heather’s African Grey Parrot, Rodrigo, perches on a swing. Rodrigo’s vocabulary consists mainly of the lyrics of the...

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Loss or Salvage

Loss or Salvage

‘Un mot et tout est perdu, un mot et tout est sauvé. You know that’, he tells me. They lie in beds that sleep can’t reach. Can you see them? Their bodies, still. It is against them that life echoes, writhes. Stripped of gaze, stripped of fear. A senseless waiting on...

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Marriage

Marriage

I want to be there when you are gone someone to point out your flowers when they ask What should go in the ground to watch the air creep below your nose as the streetlamp in the window glowers at the cracks in our knuckles listing the ways we lived another delay not a...

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Papa’s Bastard Son

Papa’s Bastard Son

Sometimes you look at the world and you can’t understand it for all you try. They tell you the trick is to adapt, to get used to it, to conform. I know that much already. What other choice is there? Well, sure, there is something else you can do but you don’t do it...

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Subconscious Radiation

Subconscious Radiation

My art is driven by my love for the world and my curiosity concerning its complexities and intricate structures. The overarching theme is attempting to illustrate the elusive space/point, where dualities such as chaos - order, creation - destruction, balance each...

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A Tale of Two Flowers

A Tale of Two Flowers

The Pool of Narcissus There was a pool in legends of old, nestled amidst the glens of Boeotia. Here, the water ran cold and clear, sheltered from prying human eyes. And here did the most wondrous of spring flowers bloom. Daisies and daffodils, and vibrant wildflowers...

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Terminal

Terminal

Here, we all have purpose: You can see it in the way we walk, the confidence, Propelled by one large recycled breath At a controlled and comfortable temperature – In this well tended transitory hive With no need for a queen. Our keepers guide us with screens And...

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Old Folk for New Poets – Part I

Old Folk for New Poets – Part I

The Cellist of Sarajevo - By Anna Citrino I imagine him sitting inside the ruined buildings on his straight-backed chair, his white shirt shining out from beneath the dark of his tuxedo. He leans forward into his instrument, draws his bow across tensioned...

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On Those Mornings

On Those Mornings

when the sun rolls itself over the ridge and spills out into the coulee sifting itself through the deer tick scalp of trees the thread that connects you as a child and you now is straightened out on the valley floor and you can see the untangled line between the two...

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Valcour Island

Valcour Island

Forgive me. I can tell you now. There is sweet relief in telling. I write to you continuously in my mind. It is in my mind I see you. Towering and irresistible.  For me it has all become irresistible. Forgive the days, the months of silence. The distance I’ve put...

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