Simple as that, really | Gabriella Garofalo

Simple as that, really, those intractable months
Are twisting her arm, so the moon
Will rush to short her heaven’s light,
And you’ll get lost in a white maze,
Words, trinkets of your mind-
But how can soul fight for herself
Or raid other limbs or obsessions,
As she’s not the reckless marauder you think
When dazed by wild mint, fresh grass,
You long to grab eagerly,
Even those who fall crippled,
Even those who swerve blind,
Worse than rejected winter clouds.

See, they recant the foliage, and the wind,
‘Cause adolescence scares the trees-
Can’t you feel the angst of roots
Stick worse than damp, or honey-
Limbs for you, for them a land of siege:
And who’s gonna shelter you
From the shift of herds, maybe the clouds?
The voice of creation can’t command,
Nor can she ask, your words
Bring to her coking and anxiety,
When you mishandle old friends struggling
To throw garments away, never light-
Briers might do, sure,
The green you are splurging on
To slam fear if she rejects the air,
Then sets the fire ablaze, so they skip
Women’s hands, by killing fire
While you scream good wishes,
And hope they burn in a helpess fire:
And where’s shame, where’s guilt,
If you gaze deeply into a light
That’s stretching a coloured rush of rain-
Keep safe, my soul, stay in,
Say ‘no’ to cluttered seeds
If they wish to meet you,
The luggage falls down, so does your womb,
After all, you are just a getaway,
And in fairness he never abused you.
Oh, by the by, d’you know listening is a myth,
Even waves have got more strength,
In the gleaming ambivalence of our being,
In the tapestry born from a tangled desire-
But how can light’s wrath go on,
If untouched stays the day and pure,
When making clouds, dust, justice,
Day in day out, against existence-
And how is, God, you never ever waver?
Or you just play along, while shaking your head,
And looking at a cupboard of storms
Carefully stored and selected?

Born in Italy some decades ago, Gabriella Garofalo fell in love with the English language at six, started writing poems (in Italian) at six and is the author of these books “Lo sguardo di Orfeo”; “L’inverno di vetro”; “Di altre stelle polari”; “Casa di erba”; “Blue Branches”; “ A Blue Soul”, “After The Blue Rush”.