View of Miranda, Italy

Emma Sywyj

YOUR OLD BEDROOM WINDOW

Craig Martin Getz

The black-and-white aerial photograph of your town

was taken from the height of summer eagles,

the highest of storks, their nearly useless legs

dangling over fascist Spain, from above

corn and sugar beet fields, fruit orchards, to the south

of your old bedroom window;

just enough thread

poking through the eye of a needle.

It was a sunny day; the shadows a myriad

of darker triangles and rectangles just to the left

of the otherwise jigsaw collection of upright buildings:

from the farming warehouses on the lower edge

to the Arabic fortress castle, its crown of battlements,

and the Catholic church smack dab against it

at the top of the gentle flood-free rise

the old town still clings to.

One winter morning, all of our fathers came singing

wake-up songs, didn't they? They would open the curtains

and point to the snow covering the rooftops of our hometown

like a miracle, their arms around our shoulders.