Cantata Argentina
By: Lucrezia Pierro

They dwell among the ruins of Terre Argentina,
little gods who own the city.
They are the high priests of broken temples,
a colony of cats who stalk their sacrifices:
an unsuspecting pigeon, a  skittering field mouse.

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Their acolytes, the gattare, bring offerings;
calamari carried in a Dolce Gabanna bag,
left over linguini on a paper plate,
 bit of milk poured warm into a chipped saucer.

In the Roman sun, they curve like odalisques
curl around columns,  lounge on ledges,
but under the robe of night
they gather.

With eyes like votive candles
they watch  the moon,
and in its spotlight
they sing out cantatas
caterwauling
desire and despair,
suffering and love.