Frank Matagrano

THIS IS HOW WE FOLD OUR HANDS ON THE BOAT TO AMERICA

Captain says the best thing God made was overcast. To the patron
saint of vision and champagne flutes, let us pray. There is something
in the air: salt, rotting fish, funk, a wisp of cigarette smoke we imagine
swirling from a cabaret singer's mouth. It is time, brother: redeem
your kindness at the counter, raise three sheets to the wind, three sheets
and a rope in knots, three sheets and a cartographer's translation
of curves, equators and bodies of water. Let us bore one another
with pictures from home, let us remember the less than subtle
things the hijacked called hope, let us pray.  We have
forgotten how to stand still. Here is a bewildered girl
learning how to spin, her shirt in the sawdust. Here is a bottle
the Dutch called courage, emptied by our fathers at the end
of a day.  To the patron saint of arthritis who could predict the weather
with a bone that didn't heal right, let us make assumptions, let us pray.

Previously published in The Chiron Review

Frank Matagrano's work has previously appeared in Another Chicago Magazine (ACM), Cimarron Review, Exquisite Corpse, Roanoke Review, Gargoyle, Flint Hills Review, and Northwest Review. He currently resides in Chicago, Illinois.