each afternoon on that ancient dusty hill in a square of smooth slippery stone a crowd gathers in front of a church for a funeral or wedding. the only difference is how the crowd greet the man in the suit at the top of the marble steps worn by the footsteps of mourners and brides. and you and i walked up the sun stroke hill with our wine and arancini in a paper bag clear from the grease and our shirts sticking to our back then we’d eat those fresh tomatoes and fleshy olives marinated in summer’s sweat, oil soaked bread with the cheese and dark sundried blood wine watching from the kitchen balcony while the nero d’avola sun shines on that weary square. in the small room we lay breathing heavy that late summer afternoon sicilian air while the tv ran dubbed reruns of decades old cop shows and you stood on the balcony in your underwear listening to the man yelling out the prices of fish. and I waited for you to come back to bed where you make me feel so alive.
J. Kenny is a writer and composer working in Berlin. His freelance writing, stories and poems have been featured in publications in Australia, Germany, the UK and the US. Themes of identity and subjectivity feature heavily in his writing. His collaborative soundtrack work has featured in short films and art installations in Germany, Finland, the Netherlands, Japan and South Korea. He plays bass in Berlin punk rock Dead Sentries. Twitter @thejknny.