Giulietta Poem by Chris Zachariou

in the beginning—
her light, always her light

then noon; penicillin
and a needle full of death

death, so much death
rains this morning on Verona

and that pit,
years and years deep
lurking in the corner
of the marble garden—

arms and bones
twisted, broken
and the smell of death

but where are her bones
with the scent of honey and myrrh

and
who will now reap the grain
from the yellow fields of August

no! no! no!
harvester sheath your scythe
I shall not let her wander
all alone in the sterile garden

my gentle old priest, please
take this grief away from me
here is a loaf of leavened bread
for such a kind service