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FEILE-FESTA
Spring 2011

Poetry

Ancestors
- R. Baldasty
Beloved Albatross
- D. Bastianutti
From Trã Bãn
- K. Cain
The Current (La Corrente)
- L. Calio
Down with the King
- M. Cirelli
May Mass – 1957
- L. Dolan
America
- G. Fagiani
Persephone’s Devotion to Her Mother
- M. Fazio
Bastardu
- V. Fazio
Christmas
- D. Festa
L’Amour, L’Amour on Summer Afternoons (L’Amour, L’Amour D’estati Filuvespiri)
- M. Frasca
Sgrìob
- S. Jackson
Sirocco
- W.F. Lantry
Little Swift
- R. León
Since You Asked
- M. Lisella
Dublin 2010
- V. Maher
39 Fifth Avenue
- C. Matos
Sunrise in Sicily
- A. O’Donnell
Watching Monzú at Work
- F. Polizzi
L’incontru (Rendezvous)
- N. Provenzano
Propriu Quannu Sta Scurannu (When the Day Is Almost Over)
- N. Provenzano
Bones (Le Ossa)
- D. Pucciani
Things
- E. Swados
Mount Etna
- G. Syverson
Poet Jack Foley Says, “We’re Not Writing for Eternity
- J. Wells
Lord of Winter
- A. Zanelli

Aldo Morazán


Reverbs

      She opened her eyes, when she heard his car pull away. Echoes of last night’s strikes reverberated in her ribs, arms, and left cheek. She remembered her mother. All these years later, they now bore the same platoon’s wounds. She readied a defensive or retaliatory response—go, get gone, and stay gone. She wondered why it had never struck her mother, as the pangs palpitated with more consistency.
      In their room, she found little worth taking. She ignored pictures, keepsakes and mementos. Take anything you can sell, she thought. That was disappointingly little. A few changes of clothes were essential. Everything else could be replaced.
      The shadow of her father’s memory snuck around the dark corners of her mind, sniping at any hope daring enough to raise its head.
      Her parents had tried to explain or play down the incidents currently swelling her mind. It had never made sense.
      Mom stuck it out, why not me?
      Then it was done. She gave the room a parting glance.
      It’s over, she thought, heading for the door.
      “Mom,” cried a faint voice, as she turned the doorknob, “what’s for breakfast?”
      She clutched the suitcase’s handle, then thought, Soyrizo and Eggs.