WAKES AND WEDDINGS
1. Wakes
Dipping two fingers into the holy water, little Angela held tight to her mother’s gloved hand. In the receiving line she gave her aunt an obedient kiss as she peeked over at the ornate bronze casket and her uncle’s body. “He looks so handsome! Joe Carbone did a beautiful job on him,” noted her mother. Angela watched the endless line of people planting kisses on both of Aunt Babe’s cheeks. Then she saw one man’s lips linger too long on her finely powdered face. Angela sat in the back of the creepy funeral parlor with her kinda mean cousins. As usual, she was betwixt and between. Nine years old, baby-fat chubby with a very short pixie cut, she was dressed in a too tight navy blue jumper that her grandmother made for her. Angela couldn’t wait to grow up and be like her older glamourous cousin, Diana.
2. Weddings
That mustard color A-line dress stays with her to this day. It was symbolic of all that was
wrong with Angela’s personal year of hell—1965. She had just turned fourteen that September
and she wore it to her cousin Sammy’s wedding. A hand-me -down from a daughter of
her Nonna’s Polish lady friend, the color was a ghastly mismatch. The bilious gold
shade reflected up on her face, making it look sallow. Sadly, this was years before the
“Color Me Beautiful” chart that would tell her she was a Winter. Angela tore that particular photograph into itty-bitty pieces and moved on to the next few wedding pictures. There they were in all of their Kodacolor glory: the three graces, cousin Diana, Aunt Babe, and still elegant, her grandmother Sara. All dolled up and all horsed up, as her mother would say. Those dazzling dark eyes tipped with mystery together with Estee Lauder rose lips. Angela and her little sister
Donna beheld the slinky turquoise and black chiffon dresses they donned, with
eyeshadow to match. Their bouffant updos had tendrils tumbling down the sides of their
exquisitely made-up faces. The spike heels were dyed to match their dresses but indicative of their”watch out” side. No cleavage back then, the sheer black voile just
enough of a tease. The three graces had an immeasurable hold on Angela and her
sister that night. Angela remembered them shedding their mink stoles at the door of the venue, theKnights of Columbus party room. They strolled into the room on the arms of men named
Louie and Vince — handsome men, with slick hair, brilliant black and blue. The women with cigarettes, posed just so, as if to say, I wish I was in Atlantic City. Little did Angela and her sister know then that some of those men exerted that black and blue on their wives.
Angela’s eyes narrowed as she took a closer look at the slight bulge in the front of
cousin Diana’s dress. Well, well, at least we’re in the same boat, she mused. Unmarried
Diana, she wondered if her mother knew.
Bio:
Elisa Lanzi is a multimedia artist and writer working at the intersection of printmaking and book arts. She is a member of the Main Street Writers inAmherst, MA and her first published poem, “Legion Of Mary” is included inOvunque Siamo [Spring 2025]. A residency at the Vermont Studio Center rekindled her desire to write alongside her visual art. Her artists’ books and prints are exhibited frequently in both juried and invitational settings and are represented in public and private collections. Elisa had an earlier career in libraries and museums, fueling her deep engagement with books and art. Outside of the studio she enjoys herb gardening and cooking with friends and family. Elisa grew up in an Italian-American family in Rochester, NY and lives in western Massachusetts. www.elisalanzi.com
OVUNQUE SIAMO 