Seeker Magazine - December 2004

Alessandra Gallo

Born in Turin (Italy) in 1970, I received a degree in Foreign Languages and Literature from the University of Turin in 1994. My thesis concerned the use of poetry in the teaching of English in Italian schools, since I already had a crush on teaching. On poetry. On words. In 1996 I married and began moving often due to my husband's job. After our second child was born, we returned to Turin where I am currently working as EFL teacher. I started writing English poetry in December 2003 and simply couldn't stop. I now write poetry and short stories in my native language as well, and some very short poems in French too. Experimenting with different sounds and rhythms has been an incredible and rewarding experience. Framing my thoughts, especially in a language that is not my native one, is a way to achieve a better understanding of my own feelings. My personal website is www.lessthanperfectmoments.com

21 grams | Parole | To Mum | Journal | High

21 grams
21 grams
the net weight of conscience
of love and hate
of the fury of thoughts
the sweetness of memories
the image I have of myself

the gross weight of conscience
of closed rooms
of heavy air
of the wasted days
the rooming fantasies
the image you have of me

the tare weight of conscience
of the hollow shells
of the ironed clothes
of the make up before going out
desire balanced on a scale
the image I have of us

Parole
Wouldn't it be nice
to let the dogs loose, for once
long-tailed bastards on the grass
to sniff their way around, then run away
towards new loves

Wouldn't it be nice to untie
the pushchairs' belts
and let the children walk
refuse to hold their hand
in a staggering path to freedom

Wouldn't it be nice to throw away
all the recipes
on my kitchen shelves
and close my eyes – confident -
that I can cook by heart

note: 'Parole' is the Italian for 'Words'. Too.

To Mum
I'll dance barefoot
on green sea foam
trimmed on the ocean
I'll dive, eyes open,
into the secret cell
that lays below
fish out all the jewels,
all the sparkling gems I find,
and make a necklace
to tell her I love her
nonetheless

Journal
What a joy it is
to smell the pages,
recall the many colours
of the clothes I used to wear
stir up memories of the taste
of ginger lip gloss
pressed with a kiss
on October 6th.

I curl myself onto the sofa,
take another sip of orange juice
then turn the page
to find a picture of my old cat,
stroke her for a while,
my eyes closed, I smile
at the feel of youth
on my fingertips

High
Waddle
to the edge of a puddle
a hazy shape
something between
a three legged pig
and an alien.
In the echoed
mourning sky
bathe the clouds
relaxed, immobile
until a lazy
drip drip drop
engages them
in a languid dance
with ripples.

(Copyright 2004 - All Rights Reserved by Alessandra Gallo - No reproduction without express permission from the author.)

Table of Contents

Letter to the Author: Alessandra Gallo