When I read "La Vita Nuova"

It broke my heart.

All day you wrote-

musk in the den,

while I kneaded bread.

The children scream

and giggle

their cheeks flushed

red;

they trample

through mud puddles,

when it's dry

they raise dust.

So

you dream

of her pale ghost

while the sweetness

of dough rising

drifts under

your thin door.

I tried for years

to shine the silver

and wipe the walls

but the sweetness

of an invisible rose

hung strong in the air.

You see freedom bloom

when you look

out your small

window

but every day my heart shrinks

my inferno,

my shame,

these flames of

despair.