by Gregg Orifici
Don’t look down on the road from Dulceacqua—
Of course you must do so
To admire the concentric circles of Apricale,
Content and swirling in the valley below.
But look past the ravine of discarded microwaves,
vanities that have lost their allure,
and the occasional Fiat or Citroen, flipped, crushed,
ass in the air—as if exhausted,
curving, doubling back into light then shadow,
and again, making painfully slow progress until,
struck by unimagined resolve,
deciding to cut corners and go straight down.
Love can turn out like this.
Gregg Orifici holds an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of New Hampshire and writes with deadpan, unsettling humor about the discomfort of connection, longing and self-discovery, and delves into these themes in his poetry, fiction and essays. He has published several poems in Red Savina Review, St. Sebastian Review and Outrider Review. He half lives with his ex-ish partner and 3 Jack Russells in coastal New Hampshire and the Green Mountains of Vermont.