After Giovanni Bragolin’s Girl Crying
he acquired her from where she was perched
outside a dumpster
in some filthy alleyway
or back street
at four in the morning
abandoned
tears leaking down
chalky cheeks
as she sat on the curb
the shiny hardened line of blood
a dissection of spilt
insect resin
split forehead to chin
giovanni didn’t name her but
in an obtuse joke
a flyaway on the wind
she was christened and
this faded child became
my favourite
there was something charming about the girl
left alone
put out for trash
only to be found
in the witching hours
before dawn
when he dispersed his belongings
amongst friends
left behind
she came to hang
in pride of place
face bigger
than my face
worn down brittle frame
larger than my own
i won’t say that i
refused
to give her back
but she came along for the ride
room to room
flat to flat
watching the door
every departure
waiting
to see if they’d come back.
Featured photo courtesy of author.
