Author: Andrea Potos

Not every danger points down
my daughter,
some stalk the air–his words–
beware his claims
of your beauty so great
he nearly crashed his chariot
at the glimpse of you on the road;
and your voice that caressed his ears
and petted him to sleep each night.

Beware the sturdy rope ladder of pleas
and appreciations he knots
together with expert hands.
You could climb those rungs, fit
your body through a window slit
where he waits behind,
dropping the bars
once you step in.
 
 

Contributor’s Notes: Andrea Potos is the author of four poetry collections, most recently We Lit the Lamps Themselves, from Salmon Poetry in Ireland. Her poems can be found widely in print and online.

Shudders in the chest,

palls of thrill in the air–

Upon her…..an avalanche

of fire and snow.

 
 
Contributor’s Notes: Andrea Potos is the author of four poetry collections, most recently We Lit the Lamps Themselves, from Salmon Poetry in Ireland. Her poems can be found widely in print and online.

…………Trevi Fountain, Rome
 

that first exhausted day, dazed
and wandering the cobblestones
from Pantheon to Piazza di Spagna,

we came upon it
as one would discover a shining
beast growing from the ribs of a palazzo–
water traced back from a spring
they say a young virgin once unearthed,
channelled through the ancient acqueduct
to become this force–gushing across our fatigue,
across any remaining belief we may have had in Lack.

 
 
Contributor’s Notes: Andrea Potos is the author of four poetry collections, most recently We Lit the Lamps Themselves, from Salmon Poetry in Ireland. Her poems can be found widely in print and online.