Translated from the Italian by Jessica Harkins
They never bought you the motor scooter
because you did your homework stretched out on the ground,
you refused the excessive work,
the control of the bicycle handlebars. You would have liked to let off steam at the Leopardi Stadium.
This photo does not give confidence
you will improve your underdeveloped mental areas. See, you hold the shovel by the wrong end,
as though to dig up clouds of potatoes.
Originally
It will be like the body’s slowing in a new satisfaction
in the dim light of snow, walking towards another doubling:
plane trees, lime trees, acacias, lives as a couple for thirty years behind the front gates to the house, what we will be, or what we will become, maybe I was, maybe you were first to be born,
a departure and a return, an arrival in silence. It will be a new growing, a kind of annulment,
an empty simulation,
to feel full of things
inside a room at the base
of our living in silence, with the mechanical emptiness of an action,
whenever you distance yourself from him as from a point of light
you can no longer find him, not even in dreams.
Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on Unsplash
Inside
Every day I read Inside
written in pencil over the ottoman
but I didn’t tell you about it, a month passed
and in the light of the house the words seemed
clearer, more and more imaginable
in a body, a movement as if, in there, from room to room we already heard on bare feet
our son yelling run it, always run
this risk and it was enough for us to sleep next to him.
