| Written by Fr. Pier Giorio di Cicco,
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Views : 581  |
Look at those snowflakes, Father,
why don’t you make me one of them?
Why don’t you just make me a snowflake and
be done with it.
Here in this new house
in the woods, away from past grief, I am
a map, with
no conscience.
I go from mirrors
to evidence,
with no stories to remember,
a child that knows not to put his hand
to the fire.
Why don’t you make me a snowflake?
They fall and are forgotten.
Make me of water
that runs into spring.
Let this place be a home.
And let the mirrors sing.
of badger and moon-rise.
Let this place be yours
With auspices, and blessing.
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Fr. Pier Giorio Di Cicco |
| About the author: |
| Fr. Pier Giorgio DiCicco, a priest of the Archdiocese of Toronto, has authored 17 books of poetry. He was born in Italy, raised in Montreal, Boston and Toronto and has taught at the University of Toronto. He is currently Poet Laureate of the City of Toronto. His poetry is published by The Mansfield Press
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