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V. Penelope Pelizzon

Summer 2002

Where the Arrows Fell

By V. Penelope Pelizzon

“Sent out of sight, somewhere becoming rain.” —Philip Larkin   At the upturns of your grin, the red beard                          this year's begun threading itself with white.           "Each aged hair a […]

Summer/Fall 1999

The Feast of San Silvestro

By V. Penelope Pelizzon

All week, the explosions have increased.     On Monday, three or four        startled the afternoon, sending up a piazza-    ful of pigeons, their wings        clattering like water on stone. Every car alarm […]