Sirroco

i.)
Red desert sand,
blue-black cliffs. Lemon sky.

The smell of fried arancini and calzone.
Sicilian fishing port, Cefalu:
Cobblestone streets, lungomare.

Steep staircase to climb on the way back:
Hotel Santa Lucia half-pension.

You don’t call me: “Love.” I don’t ask you.
Bare walls in the bedroom.
No pictures. No paintings.
“Sleep with the children!” you say.

ii.)
Megalithic sea walls.
The Gothic Porta dei Pescatori:
Gnarled olive tree. Stone pine.

Parching your skin
hot dry sirocco:

Nothing but orange-yellow dust.

The Arab washhouse, il lavatoio,
where villagers wash clothes.

Woman in silk sarong.
“Open the shutters,” I say.

Song of the male cicada.

Scent of jasmine. Eucalyptus
Purple bruises.

Photo Credit

Photo is by lan4t on flickr  – Some rights reserved

First published with encore literary magazine

Guest Author Bio

Ilona Martonfi
Ilona Martonfi Author of two poetry books, Blue Poppy, (Coracle Press, 2009.) Black Grass, (Broken Rules Press 2012). Published in Vallum, Accenti, The Fiddlehead, Serai. Founder/producer of The Yellow Door and Visual Arts Centre Readings, co-founder of Lovers and Others. QWF 2010 Community Award.

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