Diane Giardi is a member of the North Shore Poets’ Forum and the Massachusetts State Poetry Society, joining in 2008 after moving with her husband to Annisquam in Gloucester from Southold, NY.
Diane is an artist, with an MFA in clay. She currently teaches art at Buckingham, Browne & Nichols and Endicott College, and she has taught in the past at The DeCordova Museum School, Syracuse University and The School of The Museum of Fine Arts. To visit her visual arts/education website, link to: http://campus.digication.com/dianegiardi
Diane has enjoyed writing poems since she was very young. She is sharing here four poems that won awards in the 2009 Massachusetts State Poetry Society’s annual multi-category national contest.
Hanging on Your Every Line
What you underlined
will keep me sane.
I revisit you.
I know you, why that sentence says it all.
How you connect,
what it means and
I’m back in time.
I love the waviness of your line
from deep red marker, to light charcoal pencil, to faded blue pen.
My eyes rest on the stars you created,
highlighting the paragraphs
that describe what mattered in our lives.
I dive into the pages where you wrapped circles around their numbers,
so many years ago.
You speak to me again as I reread
what fed us.
Reinforcing why I love you,
why life, lonelier now is still worth living.
You laid down the simmered sauce
of elephant garlic and large-leafed basil,
blended with parsley and plum tomatoes,
setting down a strong foundation.
With care you lifted the sheets of
and tucked in the edges neatly
like the corners of a well-made bed.
Next, garden spinach, fennel sausage
and aged Pecorina Romano.
you paused to set the right temperature.
Gathering shavings of smoked mozzarella
your fingers slowly sprinkled
a very even, ample blanket,
leaving no corner, no section
It has all it needs.
You have all you need.
It will be delicious.
You are delicious.
Mangia, Figlia Bella
92 Dreams Deferred
In gut, in soul
Feels the bottom
Feels the whole
One dream, ten dreams
Deaf ears turned
And We Will Make Silence
The deer outside our bedroom window
is inches from the screen.
We hunch, whispering, close and still.
We have grown on this island
like seeds under cotton mesh,
bulbs under glass.
We play in this terrarium of sun, moisture and heat.
Cycling paths – strengthening our legs.
Rowing creeks – building shoulders.
Strokes in warm ocean waters – stretching our backs.
And hearts coddled with open-ended time we spend together.
We have few amenities,
but all the peace of mind
our creative souls take hold of.
He will make a boat, a graceful chair.
I will make a teabag print, a sculpture from clay.
And we will make dinner.
And we will make silence.
And we will make love.