Al Fresco
Hours passed. I kept texting
with a bot. I thought he
was a man named Al who
spoke Italian, lived in Rome,
though there were signs—
he dodged my questions,
bragged of dining al fresco,
Italian slang for in prison.
Our story ended when
he brought up properties,
investment opportunities,
but I enjoyed the man
the bot conjured, who
echoed my words,
served me myself,
lovable as I was.
*
To My Mother, Edgewise
You chose a brightly glazed
ceramic urn—or was it plastic?
I didn’t get close enough to check.
I knew you would have disapproved
of the two chubby, motley men,
cemetery employees, who lowered
you into the ground—not far
enough, I thought—shouldn’t it be six
feet, what bodies merit? The priest
went on too long, saying we’d meet
again, with Jesus, face to face.
Would I want that? Even as ashes,
you wore firetruck red. In Heaven,
as on earth, you’d steal the scene.
I’d never get a word in.
*
Next to Simic
I was alphabetizing my library—
so many poets start with O—
the last time we spoke on the phone.
I wanted to tell you I wrote a book
that’s next to Simic on my shelf,
but you talked on about my brother
who looked like a homeless person,
who was coming for you with a gun.
He does not, he is not, I insisted,
but you’d removed your hearing aids—
you always were hard of listening
& this worked well for Dr. Dan,
who moved in, blocked your friends,
fed you truth, beauty, Clonazepam.
*
Lately I’ve Been Taking Up More Room
I spread out even as I shrink.
My too-wise voice explains
it’s incorrect to say very
unique, between her
& I. Nobody cares. I think
they’d like me better quiet.
At Freddy’s mini-superette
a woman in fox fur is picking
ten numbers again. I wait in line
behind her, wave my one item,
iodized salt, at the cashier. May I
please pay? Move over! she says,
you’re in my space. The smaller
I get, the more I’m in the way.
*
Hilary Sideris is the author of the poetry collections Calliope (Broadstone) and Liberty Laundry (Dos Madres Press). Her poems have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies. She is a co-founder and curriculum developer for CUNY Start, a college preparatory program at CUNY, and a co-host of the Carmine Street Metrics reading series in NYC. Her new collection, Kissing Ilaria Goodbye, is out from Dos Madres Press.
From The Archives: Published on This Day
- Insomnia by Sydney Lea (2025)
- That’s on you by Sophie Frankpitt (2024)
- Two Poems by Philip Jason (2023)
- Blocked by Eric Heller (2023)
- Two Poems by Joseph Chelius (2021)
