• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 07


She’d a face like a buttered cracker,
unevenly brown, dimpled and tasty
in a salty way
with eyes like two black olives on
delicately piped icing.

The band I bought bore the house emblem,
and draped elegantly about the flawless cocoa
which formed her neck and seemed to pour
over her shoulders.

She wore her hair in a traditional manner,
which the women of the house
sought to emulate – in part.
None were so adventurous as to shave the crown,
leaving only two small square-ish patches
aligned with nostrils
above lips which had earned her the run of the villa.

The fresco artisan unveiled the imperfect reproduction.
Vesuvius out-shouted me,
its scalding rage dwarfing
any I might have conjured.