Fresh TortelliniBronwen Tate
A casa fra pochissimo. Sitting outside the fountain waiting for Daniele and listening to a couple of maybe Mormons or Jehovah’s witnesses talking to this guy in English about “asking ourselves questions.” Magari. Though I guess any kind of jam or something in a jar would be fine. Thanksgiving, but I’m not feeling especially thankful since the oven fucked up my pie crust. I’ve been told that there’s a nice enoteca on via San Felice, where I rarely go.
Bronwen Tate Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
|©copyright 2004-2022, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors.|