Tuesday 21 May 2019

Poem: Occhiolism

Occhiolism


We all know one.
They move with poise
No gesture wasted
Sitting straight and stiff
And we call it grace.
They dress in layers
Sunkissed skin ending with
Sharp lines at the wrists
And we call it modesty.
They speak softly
Well rounded words falling
Smoothly into rare gaps
And we call it shyness.
We all know one.

Sometimes, change comes
A sudden illness
A shocking accident
Upsets what we know
The tears are missing
Mourning worn by rote.

We meet a stranger
With a familiar face.
They move with freedom
Graceless abandon
Sprawled and smiling
And we hesitate.
They dress in colours
Winter pale skin bared to
Unsuspecting eyes
And we wonder.
They laugh loudly
Giggling opinions
Aired for the first time
And we suspect.
We don't know them
But we'd like to.
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