Egg Money Poets - 11/13/11
Five by Seven Glossy
A 5x7 glossy of Sophia Loren appears
from time to time in your apartment.
She could be anywhere--on top of a stack
of a dusty books, perilously close
to the kitchen stove, curled on the window ledge.
Most recently, I found her drying on your porch
after you rescued her from the basement flood,
a cloudy veil of water stain from eyes to flaring nostrils,
a ghost of blue ink across her high forehead from
a grocery list. She surfaces like a dog bone
buried in the garden, the sudden white a surprise
among the petunias. That's how I feel when Sophia
rises from the rubble, Cleopatra eyes, voluminous hair,
endless neck--a hint of nudity just outside the frame.
It's easy to see why you nearly swoon when you
watch her movies--the torn peasant blouse falling
off her shoulder, earthy smudge of dirt on her cheek.
but just can't bring yourself to do it. Can't abide the thought
I think you mean to throw her out someday,
of Sophia buried under half eaten pizza and orange rind,
Or worse found by a trash picker who pulls her out with
his red chapped hand and tucks her inside his coat,
and you would hear her call out to you, in Italian,
to save her one more time.