La Rebbekah


Rebbekah’s Italy

like Venice streets

i know she’s petrified beneath

because i watch her sink a little every day

and like the northern lakes

all unfathomable infinity

and amorphous traits

she waits, while the promises she makes

stagnate to seal

her liquid fate

and when she goes up in smoke

the amalfi ghost

and she can’t find the spark

or the spell that was cast

she goes back to sinking and drinking

and laughs, cursing the ashes of her

Pompeii heart

and like Italy, she survives

a caged bird

flying only at night

her curves undeterred

she’s a venus in streetlight

and thrift shop furs.

she’s a paradox

in a vintage frock and hi tops

and my world would mean nothing

without her