S. P. Flannery was born in La Crosse, Wisconsin, and now resides in
Madison. His poetry has appeared in Poetry Salzburg Review, Mobius,
Free Verse, Hummingbird, Tipton Poetry Journal, Chantarelle's Notebook,
Lunatic Chameleon, Merge, and Words-Myth. He also has poetry
forthcoming in Voltaire's Inkwell.

 

 

A New Exposure

I'm in Verona again.

Spring has crept from winter.

Gone is the dry haze of summer

when my thirst went unquenched

for romantic colors absent

lost in the sun. I unsheathe my

camera from it's leather satchel.

Flowers fall out of barred windows.

Green are limned the hills on

the opposite side of the Adige.

Children run with fluorescent

ruck-sacks to morning classes.

Men in silk suits sip coffee

without hurry. I watch. I listen.

A beautiful photo will impress

friends who stay at home. Pigeons

fly across the height of ancient

churches that have one door

slightly open. On cool marble

floors I stand to let my eyes adjust

to the narrow light. The walls are

adorned with biblical scenes and

Frankish paladins. Museums. A

child watches dropped gelato melt

near a fountain. Hawkers sell wears

under the Venetian lion. I climb

the tower to view this city in

miniature. My camera stays at my

side. I see people different than

the one's I am accustomed to.

Shorts and brassieres hang on iron

balconies where basil and parsley

grow to spice afternoon meals.

Smooth plaster houses are painted to

whet dull eyes and bring into

focus the brilliance of everyday.

Sunset. At the top of the Arena I

watch my light settle beyond tiled

roofs. I have forgotten my flash.