By Luciano Prisco
On the third day it became a crisis
as they say in Italian THE HOUSE MAY HIDE BUT IT DOES NOT STEAL
but something had stolen them
I had turned the studio upside down
scraped through all the leaves
detritus
times over
I had looked everywhere possible in the house
I had looked under, behind all the furniture
in every drawer and cupboard
I had checked the fridge and in the wood stove
NOTHING
GONE
Time and space, it seemed, had swallowed them up
On the third day it became a crisis
as they say in Italian THE HOUSE MAY HIDE BUT IT DOES NOT STEAL
but something had stolen them
I had turned the studio upside down
scraped through all the leaves
detritus
times over
I had looked everywhere possible in the house
I had looked under, behind all the furniture
in every drawer and cupboard
I had checked the fridge and in the wood stove
NOTHING
GONE
Time and space, it seemed, had swallowed them up
