SONNY CORLEONE’S DAUGHTER
The only gift I accept from lovers is black lingerie
from that little boutique in the East Village.
I have a raven tattoo and one that says, “Daddy forever” above my breasts. Uncle Michael got me a good job as a cocktail waitress.
My temper is triggered by rolling eyes, a wrong turn going home, a curse, even a dust ball in the corner. Then I smash a glass or shatter an ashtray.
I have a French manicure. I have crystal violet rosary beads.
I buy a rose for St. Lucy every Sunday, usually yellow, sometimes pink
because I’m blind in one eye. I see my father in a white T-shirt and suspenders sweating over a pot of spaghetti. The gun stuck in the back of his navy-blue pants.
I bring daffodils to his grave because they flounce like I did when I was a little girl, tell him what I’m up to. He wants me to marry a lawyer.
I have my teeth whitened but would never have a boob job. Sometimes I am a lady facing two doors
in a colosseum. One leads to a convent, the other to an orgy.
I dream of Romans. I dream of blood.
Lo Galluccio is a poet, memoirist and singer whose published works include two chapbooks: Hot Rain on Ibbetson Street Press and Terrible Baubles on Alternating Current Press. Her prose-poem memoir, Sarasota VII, was published by Cervena Barva Press which will also release another chapbook, Not for Amnesia, in November of 2022. Lo served as Poet Populist of Cambridge between 2013-2015. In 2019, she received her MFA in Creative Writing from Stonecoast.
OVUNQUE SIAMO 