THE PRICE OF FLOWERS
La statice è un’erbaccia? Pensavo fosse un bellissimo fiore. Ne ho comprato un grosso mazzo per lei da un fiorista. Penso che fossero tipo quaranta centesimi. Un’erbaccia! Immaginalo!
-Johnnie Stanizzi
She studied the bunch of statice
with her debilitated fingers-
then she became very agitated,
and wasted no time telling me.
She could not believe
that I actually paid real money
for a bunch of weeds!
Her skin was thin,
like old newspaper,
delicate and apt to crumble.
Her speech
was difficult to comprehend,
like faded print.
For conversation
I asked questions
about her jewelry,
her scars,
her hometown.
She explained
that the small, brown imperfection
on the bridge of her nose
was caused
by the sun.
She had fallen alseep
in a field in Cosenza.
She was very young
and all around her
the statice grew wild.
AGED BRICK BUILDING
The Norwich State Hospital, originally established as Norwich State Hospital for the Insane and later shortened to Norwich Hospital, was a psychiatric hospital located in Preston and Norwich, Connecticut. It opened in October 1904 and remained operational until October 10, 1996. The hospital sits on the banks of the Thames River, began with a single building on 100 acres land and expanded to, at its peak, over thirty buildings and 900 acres.
The older I got
the clearer the colors became
on the terrifying faces of
the porcelain dolls
thrown in a heap
next to Gramma-Faraway’s TV
on the canted bay window.
The dolls stared blankly at nothing,
the faces of the dead.
Sadly, some of the dolls imagined
paths that had grown narrow and thick,
rendering them impenetrable.
This perturbed most of the dolls-
the rest just became despondent,
streaking their ceramic faces with ceramic tears,
making them all the more disquieting.
Whenever I visited Gramma-Faraway
I’d usually stand in one place-
in front of the TV.
Of course, the TV was off.
I did not go there to watch television.
I went for the macaroni,
and a chance to stare into the eyes
of those dolls
until the flat balloon of terror
in my chest inflated.
Beads of sweat
became my mask of fear,
and my Uncle Rocky,
who had lived in
The Norwich State Hospital For the Insane
for 35 years,
had been released
to come home for two days.
This was Day 2.
On the first day
he tried to choke himself to death
with one of his ties.
Later he chased Gramma-Faraway
all over the huge, beaten down house
with a large kitchen knife.
He cackled wildly,
while Gramma ran from room to room.
Finally, a thought came to her.
“He is not going to stab me!
He’s just playing at being dramatic,
his favorite game.
He’s played it all his life.”
She stopped and turned on him.
“Dammi quel coltello in questo momento,
Signor DeCorleto! Andiamo, forza. Consegnarlo!
And he did,
smiling that huge smile
as if he were being amused
by something very far away.
*
A little later he came into the living room
where I was,
still enthralled by the dolls.
He sat on the edge of
the big, upholstered chair
and stared at me
the entire time I was there,
whether I was paralyzed by the dolls
or just walking around the house,
he followed and he stared,
smiling a grin
that nearly reached from ear to ear.
I swear, just catching a quick glimpse of him
caused my head to fill with circus music
and heavy breathing,
though the chests of the dolls
were absolutely still.
It was a chillingly disconcerting experience,
as if everything
had slowly gasped to a stop
with one long oily exhalation.
Mostly he stared
at me and Felicia,
who was my cousin,
taken at 12 years old
by a hole in her heart,
and now she lived in a life-sized, framed photo
on the wall in the sewing room-
she wore a long, black silk dress
that nearly touched the floor.
Her black gloves almost reached her elbows.
And her large, black Victorian hat
had a model of a white pigeon on top
fashioned from white feathers.
Felicia gave most people the creeps,
so I figured they must have missed
the porcelain dolls when they came in.
Uncle Rocky peeled off his smile
exposing his several black pointed teeth,
and placed the smile down on the rug
where it began to crawl
toward the front door-
I almost positive
I saw that.
Oh…and it spoke, too,
the smile.
It made a kind of pointing gesture
toward the door
and said, It’s time.
Life,
which is weakest
at night,
grows darker
as Uncle Rocky walks slowly toward the front door,
repossessed now,
the smile on his contented face gone,
and Gramma-Faraway, pulling at her hair,
screaming at Uncle Rocky,
Meglio non lasciarti pazzo figlio di puttana!
**
(Stanza Seven – “Give me that knife right now, Mister DeCorleto! Come on, come on. Deliver!
(Last line – Better not leave, you crazy son of a bitch!)
THE LIGHT IN VILLA FERRARI
The children worshiped Rosario Ferrari,
and believe his tales
of day-long battles
from which he would return
a hero.
They would run behind him
through the village gates
to the long shadow
of this barn
where they would stand mesmerized
as Rosario lit up the dark
bathing his white stallion
in milk.
John L. Stanizzi is the author of fourteen collections, including his newest Viper Brain and SEE. Besides the honor of Ovunque Siamo, John is in Prairie Schooner, American Life in Poetry, Cortland Review, and others. Again, besides Ovunque Siamo, nonfiction – Potato Soup, Evening Street, Red Lemon, others. Former Wesleyan Etherington Scholar, New England Poet of the Year, and Fellowship recipient/Creative Non-Fiction-‘21 from CT. Office of Arts & Culture. Taught Lit. for 26 years at Manchester CT. Community College. www.johnlstanizzi.com.
OVUNQUE SIAMO 