S. P. Flannery was born in La Crosse, Wisconsin, and now resides in
Madison. His poetry has appeared in Poetry Salzburg Review, Mobius,
Free Verse, Hummingbird, Tipton Poetry Journal, Chantarelle's Notebook,
Lunatic Chameleon, Merge, and Words-Myth. He also has poetry
forthcoming in Voltaire's Inkwell.
A New Exposure
I'm in Verona again.
Spring has crept from winter.
Gone is the dry haze of summer
when my thirst went unquenched
for romantic colors absent
lost in the sun. I unsheathe my
camera from it's leather satchel.
Flowers fall out of barred windows.
Green are limned the hills on
the opposite side of the Adige.
Children run with fluorescent
ruck-sacks to morning classes.
Men in silk suits sip coffee
without hurry. I watch. I listen.
A beautiful photo will impress
friends who stay at home. Pigeons
fly across the height of ancient
churches that have one door
slightly open. On cool marble
floors I stand to let my eyes adjust
to the narrow light. The walls are
adorned with biblical scenes and
Frankish paladins. Museums. A
child watches dropped gelato melt
near a fountain. Hawkers sell wears
under the Venetian lion. I climb
the tower to view this city in
miniature. My camera stays at my
side. I see people different than
the one's I am accustomed to.
Shorts and brassieres hang on iron
balconies where basil and parsley
grow to spice afternoon meals.
Smooth plaster houses are painted to
whet dull eyes and bring into
focus the brilliance of everyday.
Sunset. At the top of the Arena I
watch my light settle beyond tiled
roofs. I have forgotten my flash.