The serenity in Abruzzo valley lies shattered. Vineyards framed by weathered stone houses unveil sad songs to a little San Pietro della Ienca church. Dogs sniff for stolen blood along ski slopes, the smell of iron like death in the air. A pontiff’s love in gold and glass soars like a speck of dust astir. Every new year in blood- soaked cassocks, every papacy distraught.
Martha Landman writes poetry in tropical North Queensland, Australia. Her latest work appeared in Eunoia Review, The Camel Saloon and other journals.