“I Danced with God Last Night” by Gabriella Garofalo

To Alessio Bettoli, in the name of remembrance

spring-evening-at-inokashira-park-1931
“Spring Evening at Inokashira Park” by Kawase Hasui (1931)

I danced with God last night –
A swanky party, smart guests,
I felt tense, bit shy, so to break the ice
I asked him what he thought of the moon:
‘She’s nice, he said, ‘bit fickle maybe,
To every gazer a different stare,
Don’t you think so?’
To be honest I’ve always seen her true to herself,
So I politely begged to differ –
See what happens then, in the next round
The moon asked me to dance,
Now I was eager, wasn’t I, to know
What she thought of God so I asked her –
Was I being too nosey and bold perhaps?
You never know with those people from the sky,
Such an ilk apart –
‘He’s great, she said, ‘bit slow maybe
When choosing the new furniture,
The sky badly needs sprucing up,
Don’t you think so?’
Actually the sky looks fine by me,
So I politely begged to differ –
At home now, a blue sky against the ice white and a missing teacher,
But I can’t run away, who’s there to feed my garden
And I’m shoeless, but wasn’t that party
Such great blast, after bloody August
When I lay snared among seaweeds, corals, sea stars
And kept knocking on the door for shelter and fire –
Of course to no avail, the fire gone missing,
Radiance never hits the water and where are they now?
Anyway.
Let’s keep cool, a look at the bright side might do:
The water I’m drinking tastes harsh, fine, OK,
Water is life they say and she even had the guts
Of screaming she’s been dirtied from day one:
Over five nights birth loomed over two young lovers –
A force to be reckoned with?
Who bloody cares, so are the veils that hide my skies
And a name starting with G.

 

Bio: 

Born in Italy some decades ago, Gabriella Garofalo fell in love with the English language at six, started writing poems (in Italian) at six and is the author of “Lo sguardo di Orfeo;” “L’inverno di vetro;” “Di altre stelle polari;” “Blue branches;”  and “A Blue Soul.”

Accompanying her submission of this poem was the sentence: “…warmest wishes from Italy, where, courtesy of Coronavirus, we live in a pitch-black limbo, an endless tunnel.”

 

Our best wishes and prayers for Italy; our best wishes and prayers for the world…
~ Amarine Rose Ravenwood/aka Nina Hall/The Literary Librarian.

© The Literary Librarian 2020