Gesso

for every precipice an ascent of maisons

of white-washed paint around blue domes

in chalked churches sprinkled over santorini

different men in worn-out blue jeans

with scales in their plastered uniforms

are glueing the white and blue details of the cyclades

masons smoke with a keen eye for oia's palette

working temporary jobs before the season comes

they jump in to paint cans according to the contract

into empty infinite pools to paint blue bottom tiles

and yet the sky is whole unreflective grey and wintry

past the donkeys carrying around carpentries & fibreglass in a violent pace

all so fleeting and soon they'll all give room

to some lacquered eccentric glamour, a mix between colossal beauty & awe

Paros diary # 1

we board on the blue star ferry in piraeus heading to the cyclades

and by noon we are amongst whitewashed houses, blue domes,

a local farmers market on the main street selling fresh tomatoes

we buy for lunch. sardines sparkle the waters, their silver scales

turning golden as their spines bubble in the hot oil. we eat vegan

lunch despite the smell of fry around us. a walk along the coast

of parikia and its salty atmosphere guides us: braids and flecks

of seaweeds ashore, an elongated sun in the sea, plastic bottles,

rubber conches & latex shells nature has rejected for mudlarking.

thyme shrubs & rosemaries in front of the villas, cacti for desert

gardening. we find more orthodox churches than tourists during

off-season. soon i shall come back to st nikolaos thalassitis church

& light a candle giving thanks to what i prayed to last time around:

you, beauty & glory, jasmine blossom, my body harbouring yours.

Self portrait as two Caravaggios

now I look at myself and feel more mannish love

since you asked me—& I excitedly agreed—to try

growing a moustache. Do I lose though

my cherished youth

do I resemble or am I quite more like a vandalised Mario Minniti

posing with a basket of fruits?

Here, I lay still

ripe cherry lips, peaches

& apricots of the season

I offer you tonight:

skinny dip into my body

clean-shaven hole last night

smooth for the coarse brush

of you working the canvas

I stretch for you love

& night sweats wake me up at night

& I check if you're still there, if you see me as a concert or fugue.

_____________

e.r. de siqueira is a Latinx working class poet, originally from Brazil. He read English at

UFMG. Poetry works have appeared/are forthcoming in Magma, Under the Radar, The

Interpreter’s House, The Cortland Review, Fruit Journal, and in the anthologies "Responses

to Untitled (eye with comet)(c.1985) by Paul Thek" and "Mein schwules auge - My Gay

Eye"