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Poetry by Donna Gelagotis Lee
Into an overt country, she plunged,
looking for love but finding a necklace
of gold in a souvenir shop in Plaka,
his footsteps on cobblestone behind her.
They stepped through an open taverna door.
In and out, through that porthole of night,
tourists exchanged their currency, eager
to view the fish on ice, the skin the fire
would touch for their feast, eager to taste
the wine in barrels strapped to the wall.
They arranged themselves at tables catty-
corner to the street as the moon swung
like a sign over the street. The tongue
of their letters lulled in their mouths,
the indomitable breeze so subtle on the
backbone of history, rustling the present,
whirling around the past. Neither the body
nor the mind entirely aware of desire
mounting, in some small corner,
the heart’s remarkable showcase.