Thomas Festa

In memoriam Pauline Uchmanowicz


Bare feet flat on earthen tiles,

cool soles pat arabesques.

It’s solstice. Out tall window-doors,

spires to remind us

of what we’ll never be, reach…


The sound of distant river’s

unmistakable, smacks

of wine spilled for you, water,

friend, close by, a windswept

fountain heard as laughing patios of praise.


So like solace in this year of loss,

the missed rising to the longest sun.


Evanescent minds are minarets of grief,

break silence nebulous as clouds,

literal as belief,


when we ignore the call to prayer

trilling against that tendered sky,


twilight of pursed lips—


this is how I remember losing…






*Previously published in Chronogram, September 2019


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Shawangunk Review Volume XXXII Copyright © 2021 by Thomas Festa is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License, except where otherwise noted.

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