Senza Parole

That booth
In the far left
Corner –

It’s where
I last felt
Special,

Amid days
You’d take me
Shopping
And buy us
Lunch
For two.

Back then
There were no
Words

Or lies
Of gifts
Which spoiled,

Just dialogues
Sharing existence
To narrate
Love
They implied.

But, mom,
I’m an old man
Now
Whose prose
Means less
Than silence
Between these lies
We’ve fashioned
If fantasies
Dreamed
Could talk –

Soon imagining
Death can’t come

And joy once lost
Should linger

Among those
Memories cherished
Where sunshine
Still seems
True,

Coming through
Such windows clear
Looking out upon
Parking lots
Empty

In brightness
Showering strangers

That walked
With bags
Towards home.

My mind since
Seems so full

Obscured too much
By answers

While your smile
Wide
Holds questions
Like sun
During times
Long gone.

Only age
Proves solace
Awaits
Within tears
Wrinkled eyes
Might glimmer
Reflecting
Apparent divinity
Inside souls
Youth stays
Left behind.

I’m your little boy
Who sits

Eating fries
Yet savoring
Moments

On forever
Our afternoon
Journeys

At a mall
How heaven
Will look.

  • J. Pigno

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