Luca Marino: A Poem

Standard

Luca Marino was built hard.

bones made of iron, and

skin composed of fresh pine.

he always felt like a forest

at the exact moment the sun

rose over it.

he drank whiskey from

the moment he woke,

pouring it into teas & coffees &

omelettes.

Rough hands built for rough work,

he spent most of his time trying

to touch me delicately;

sure i would break.

When i turned 23

he built me a bassinet;

spent three weeks in that studio.

My 24th New Years he searched for

my favorite champagne and ended

up robbing our neighbors for it.

When we decided to move in together

he built a cabin in the middle

of a clearing.

When I turned 26

Luca Marino drove into town

for strawberry ice cream

and never came back.

all that whiskey helped him

drive himself straight into a river.

When I was 27, I left the house,

and our baby

had outgrown her bassinet.

i chose the farthest point from our life,

and moved to the biggest city i

could find.

and that

was

that.