Gemma Gorga


From her I inherited two gold earrings
carved into small hexagons of light:
from one ear to the other
the trajectory is simple—
death took charge of opening
the hook here, closing it there—
such as who inherits stories or memories,
also from one ear to the other,
also the initial puncture,
blood-lit at the end of the corridor,
pain beating for life
at the lobe of each word.