PHYLLIS BECK KATZ, POET
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POEMS/ Santorini, 1961

picture
Santorini, 1961

Our first child curled inside me.
The kettle boiled dry 
while we loved and listened to the wind’s heat
caressing the flat white roof. 

Once we heard the roar of motorcycles
snarling in the alley at three a.m.
as if the riders wanted passage through our room
and island roosters crowed all night
loud in the neighbor’s garden.
We held each other and slept 
until the sun rose straight above
touching the silent rim of the volcano’s crater.

When we were hungry we ate octopus,
bread and goat cheese in a small taverna,
drank retsina and tiny cups of thick black coffee. 
Weary donkeys burdened with loads 
dwarfing their worn and dusty backs 
struggled up the sun-scorched path below us,
where lizards crept over torch- hot rocks at noon, 
seeking shade in the cool, wet sand.

Beyond the ancient crusting wall
where blood red bougainvillea clung,
the azure sea still sung 
of the great fleet that sailed  to Troy, 
of years of longing and of pain.

We were young then --
and thought the song
of the ageless sea
was not for us.


All Roads Go Where They Will, 2010




Copyright 2018, Phyllis Beck Katz. All rights reserved.