monday

monday
by Irene Koronas

our village priest wears faded blue robe and a holy hat.
he drives his tractor back from his garden with the
detached look of one who has lived with God more years
than his youth

breeze brushes weeds, my gray hair. pheasant hurries
from one olive tree to another. women knead the dough
prepare cheese to stuff inside. wood beside the gray ovens
in every courtyard

relatives have been coming to the village since yesterday
everyone readies for the end of lent is near

the children play during church service
the old women bow, bend, bless themselves
the old priest holds onto alter for support

I walk the fields, foothills
the distance men wear

wild wheat in morning sun hums
bugs, birds, chickens,
dull yellow against sky chimes

snails cling under orange palms, bright pink freesia
queen ann’s lace, wild geraniums, the great mystery
koliva, boiled barley, confectionery for the dead


~ first published in Pentakomo Cyprus (Cervana Barva Press)