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The Adoration of Charity
Angela Costi
She is more than a passing gaze
more than a smile in a room of strangers
more than a substantial donation to a worthy cause
within the folds of her demure gown
she stores her generosity
warm and ripened for various occasions
to champagne toast those zillion zeros.
At night is when she really swells
in pillows flooded with tears
a gush of love to hug and cuddle all sleep.
They say she begins at home with family and neighbours
baby-sitting the unfamiliar
a refuge for the broken spirited
yet I’ve seen her travel to the most treacherous shores
with gunfire tearing through innocence
screams yearning for death
men in uniforms of steel
reclining on gold bullion
and she is the waterfall showering a multitude of hearts
and she is the river where all wounds are washed.
Although she is based in Melbourne, Australia, as a writer and poet, she has been published widely including California (Tattoo Highway), Boston (Sojourner) and New York (M.A.G). Angela Costi has two collections of poetry: Dinted Halos (2003) and Prayers for the Wicked (2005), which have been favourably reviewed in print and online. She is also the cofounder of Saloni M a cross-cultural cross-arts collective of writers and artists who seek to honour, interrogate and celebrate that part of themselves that is connected to the Mediterranean and/or Middle-East (www.innersense.com.au/salonim ) Angela is married to a anti-Bush political activist who was born in Minnesota, US.
The Village Wedding (Cyprus 1995)
Angela Costi
A river of white-gowned tables
like a snake of purity, slices
the village into equality
the smell of food floats
on the valley’s cumulous joy
lamb quietly spins a herbal caress
bread with the weave of cheese,
olive and onion, wine to sweeten
the tired and cynical, a feast from
every woman’s secret larder
every shepherd’s special stock.
Today is one of many.
A violin will appear attached to a moustache
and large voice of uplifting sorrow
the bouzouki and mandolin will wander in
dance with a quick toe stamp, two step hop
a click of finger again and again, the leader
one hand waving the white hanky with dare
the other holding the long line of sisters,
brothers, cousins, heritage
dancing their history into the dust
no roof, no walls, no cave, no running
the sky is their witness.
Today there is always tomorrow.
Fresh from blessing and his kiss
she unveils her laughter
sits astride the gentle eye donkey
her husband leads on foot
his face speaks honour
they join the swell of pride
with shot glasses saluting the sun
a red and amber rainbow of hot liquor
the bride’s long lace skirt swirls
she dances the song of new chapter
her mother’s face glistens with loss.
Today there are gifts of promise.
The World of White
Angela Costi
When I was too small to think for myself
mother believed in the goodness of white bread
she did the thing mothers do bad — made my lunches
a puddle of tomato and cheese between two slobby slabs
straight in the bin, stomach rumbling, till home time
Yes Mum, the sandwiches were great.
One day I was introduced to brown.
Mr. Griffith’s Home Economics Class
Healthy brains need healthy food
standing before us with a magic loaf
Is it made from chocolate Mr. Griffiths?
No, bread is brown before it becomes white.
When I was too attached to think for myself
mother believed in the goodness of white weddings
— da-da-dada… da-da-dada… dadadadadada-da-da-dada…
in my white dress my mother wore, my mother’s mother wore
and mother’s mother’s mother wore
snowflake-delicate icing-sugar-sweet.
One day I was introduced to tall, brown and handsome
our nights were as hot as Egypt
our days were as simple as relearning the past.
Mum and Sharif attempted connection
Yes, I believe in God, he said. She nodded.
But Jesus was not his son. She shook her book,
psalms, prayers, commandments flew out
steps and ladders to our white system
he chose the back door, singing Praise be to Allah
down the laneway.
When I was too divided to live at home
mother said, You won’t find a better place out there
she made me take her Domestic Policy:
a box of rubber gloves, Spray n’ Wipe,
Rat Sak, Ant Rid, the Freshness of Alpine.
Eventually she knocked, I opened
she cleaned, I witnessed
white wasn’t the best colour to have inside
white walls, doors, ceilings, sheets…
they couldn’t hide the smallest of sins.
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