betrothal goblet.”
I wish to hurl it at his face,
but instead I set it upon the table.
Luca and I stare at the azure glass,
yet unadorned. I should like
to smash it to a thousand shards.
A scroll of paper tangles
inside the cup’s neck
with flowers and birds
and an inscription
I refuse to accept.
“What is that?”
I point to the paper
in horror.
“The outline for the enameler.
Do you think they just place
glass upon glass without thought—
no, he must know what to paint.”
Luca will no longer look at me.
“Well, take your marriage glass.”
“I will not,” I say.
“Fine, I shall send it with Vanna,
then. What business do you have
in my fornica anyway? Go away,”
he says, with his back turned to me still.
I pick up the ugly scroll
that taints Luca’s work
and quietly tuck it into my dress.
“No, I wish to stay,” I say,
but my voice is no larger
than a pebble in a child’s hand.
VULNERABLE
Luca’s back transforms
from a barrier into a shield,
and I ask with a voice
quiet as a spider spinning a web,
“Luca, do you want to marry
Vanna?”
His turn is soft
as though he were on wheels.
“I want to own the second fornica.
I do not hide this from anyone.
And there is nothing
wrong with your sister.”
As I step closer
to the fire of the fornica
and Luca,
my shadow lengthens.
“I understand.
And you are correct.
My sister is wonderful.”
“What is that you clutch
so tightly?” Luca gestures
to my sketchbook. I almost
forgot that I held it in my arms.
I shake my head no.
Even though I brought it
for him to see,
now I feel I have made
a dreadful mistake.
He wrangles it from my grasp,
and I crumble backward
a few steps like someone
yanked and released my hair.
Luca flips quickly through the sheets.
“But these are all of me?” he says
with that accusing voice of his.
The tears sting, but it is too late
now to run away unknown.
“Yes, you fool, of course they are.
Don’t you know?”
I am swift as gale winds
toward the door,
but Luca blocks my way.
“Stay. Sit down.
Listen now to how I feel,
sweet Maria.”
His hand upon my arm
so warm and gentle,
I melt and bend.
And I know now
he will never allow me
to shatter upon the floor.
LIFTING THE FOG
Luca clasps my hand full
in his and leads me to the bench,
a true gentleman. We sit so close
beside one another our ankles touch,
our hands still laced.
He begins, “I feel as though I have
been in a great fog with you, Maria,
ever since that first moment when
you asked me did I not know
what thyme was.”
I smile.
He squeezes my hand.
“The fog has been lovely
and mysterious, and I have enjoyed
treading and searching through it
for you, but now the weather lifts
and you stand before me in all
your light. And I am not sure
that I deserve you,
for I do not know what a family is,
having neither a mother nor a father
to remember.”
There is a moment when
I think a tear may form
in the crook of his eye.
I want to kiss all his sadness away,
drown it in an ocean of my cheer,
but Luca continues,
“My heart feels for you
like I feel for my greatest glass,
only more, but I am not certain
that this is enough.”
He tries to go on,
but I put a finger to his lips
and draw a smile.
“Oh, but it is,” I say.
“It is more than I could dream
to ask for from anyone. I have
even imagined myself your glass,
only until now I believed
my feelings would shatter me.
And even that
didn’t stop me caring for you.”
Luca kneels before me now.
“Never would I break
one I wish to call family,”
he says.
MY PROTECTOR
Between me and the world,
my sister has always been
safe bedrock in a sinking marsh.
She is a straw hat against noon glare,
a melody bludgeoning night gloom.
Between me and my doubts,
my sister is a shore
that breaks tides apart.
Her cathedral bells ring
day in and out.
Between me and my mother,
my sister is cristallo.
She can see
I wish to hurl it at his face,
but instead I set it upon the table.
Luca and I stare at the azure glass,
yet unadorned. I should like
to smash it to a thousand shards.
A scroll of paper tangles
inside the cup’s neck
with flowers and birds
and an inscription
I refuse to accept.
“What is that?”
I point to the paper
in horror.
“The outline for the enameler.
Do you think they just place
glass upon glass without thought—
no, he must know what to paint.”
Luca will no longer look at me.
“Well, take your marriage glass.”
“I will not,” I say.
“Fine, I shall send it with Vanna,
then. What business do you have
in my fornica anyway? Go away,”
he says, with his back turned to me still.
I pick up the ugly scroll
that taints Luca’s work
and quietly tuck it into my dress.
“No, I wish to stay,” I say,
but my voice is no larger
than a pebble in a child’s hand.
VULNERABLE
Luca’s back transforms
from a barrier into a shield,
and I ask with a voice
quiet as a spider spinning a web,
“Luca, do you want to marry
Vanna?”
His turn is soft
as though he were on wheels.
“I want to own the second fornica.
I do not hide this from anyone.
And there is nothing
wrong with your sister.”
As I step closer
to the fire of the fornica
and Luca,
my shadow lengthens.
“I understand.
And you are correct.
My sister is wonderful.”
“What is that you clutch
so tightly?” Luca gestures
to my sketchbook. I almost
forgot that I held it in my arms.
I shake my head no.
Even though I brought it
for him to see,
now I feel I have made
a dreadful mistake.
He wrangles it from my grasp,
and I crumble backward
a few steps like someone
yanked and released my hair.
Luca flips quickly through the sheets.
“But these are all of me?” he says
with that accusing voice of his.
The tears sting, but it is too late
now to run away unknown.
“Yes, you fool, of course they are.
Don’t you know?”
I am swift as gale winds
toward the door,
but Luca blocks my way.
“Stay. Sit down.
Listen now to how I feel,
sweet Maria.”
His hand upon my arm
so warm and gentle,
I melt and bend.
And I know now
he will never allow me
to shatter upon the floor.
LIFTING THE FOG
Luca clasps my hand full
in his and leads me to the bench,
a true gentleman. We sit so close
beside one another our ankles touch,
our hands still laced.
He begins, “I feel as though I have
been in a great fog with you, Maria,
ever since that first moment when
you asked me did I not know
what thyme was.”
I smile.
He squeezes my hand.
“The fog has been lovely
and mysterious, and I have enjoyed
treading and searching through it
for you, but now the weather lifts
and you stand before me in all
your light. And I am not sure
that I deserve you,
for I do not know what a family is,
having neither a mother nor a father
to remember.”
There is a moment when
I think a tear may form
in the crook of his eye.
I want to kiss all his sadness away,
drown it in an ocean of my cheer,
but Luca continues,
“My heart feels for you
like I feel for my greatest glass,
only more, but I am not certain
that this is enough.”
He tries to go on,
but I put a finger to his lips
and draw a smile.
“Oh, but it is,” I say.
“It is more than I could dream
to ask for from anyone. I have
even imagined myself your glass,
only until now I believed
my feelings would shatter me.
And even that
didn’t stop me caring for you.”
Luca kneels before me now.
“Never would I break
one I wish to call family,”
he says.
MY PROTECTOR
Between me and the world,
my sister has always been
safe bedrock in a sinking marsh.
She is a straw hat against noon glare,
a melody bludgeoning night gloom.
Between me and my doubts,
my sister is a shore
that breaks tides apart.
Her cathedral bells ring
day in and out.
Between me and my mother,
my sister is cristallo.
She can see
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