Sky Square I eavesdropped on a Frenchman Over last night’s gnocchi and white wine. He spoke in English of the museum Opposite the golden duomo. This morning I tiptoed through there, Careful not to touch the ancient art; Fragmented pots pieced together The lives of nameless dark figures. I usually rush past these sections Of the Met, Louvre, and National. I found my own corner, though— One where God and I can both live. Upstairs and to the left Hid a window 2 feet tall and wide. Alone, I leaned my body out— For here, private moments are hard to come by. Since the vases couldn’t make me feel a part Of a life more grand, I relied on the breeze.
Raven Cullo is a recent college graduate and aspiring writer. Her inspiration stems from her religious upbringing, travels abroad, and intimate relationships. She considers herself to be quite transient, but is primarily based in Illinois.
Amethyst Review 