Author Archives: Erika Bizzarri

All she had was a photo of 60 years ago. A young soldier holding a gun, on the bank of a river. And then there were the letters. These were the man she had learned to love. His last letter was dated September 2001. He had wheeled himself into the TV room and with theContinue reading “All over”

(1995 – rewritten    2017) Words, words, words. Written, spoken, whispered, murmured, shouted, modem, internet. Ways to know each other. Words engender words. Grow like a vine around a thought. Define its shape, explore, insinuate, envelop. A word – an offshoot – of the word that came before. But there was touch before the word. snowflake featherContinue reading “Words”

Year in year out, there was a turnover of objects in the shop. Gualverio might have discovered wooden begging bowls, or someone who made botanical prints. Once he brought two Sicilian puppets. An artist friend asked me to help out a struggling Rumanian artist who did traditional under-glass paintings of Orthodox saints. In Perugia weContinue reading “Erika Shop II”

There’s a suitcase on either side the bureau. There’a suitcase on either side the bed. The apartment is small – no room for storage. Suitcases must make do. A life, once full, keeps shrinking. My life. Your life. Camping out, now. Waiting for the end. Our baggage of earthly remains. Carry-ons no longer new, bearing signsContinue reading “Camping Out”

There was once a shop in an alley near the fantastic cathedral of Orvieto. It was called Erika, after the lady whose spirit it reflected. Most people probably discovered it by chance. Maybe it was when they saw that at the beginning of the alley the stone head of some imaginary beast was constantly spoutingContinue reading “Erika Shop”

August 4, 1994 Cerulean chickory still lines the road, ragged flecks torn from the sky. Spikes of yellow mullein branch into menorahs of golden stars with hearts of flame. Vanguards of creeping dwarf convolvulus insinuate their way between the stones encroach on asphalt, dot shorn roadside banks. Pale rosy faces greet the morning sun, pleatedContinue reading “August in Italy”

July 28, 1993 Sirens fraying out along the road, coming closer, farther, round the curve, up on the road above, behind the trees. Not one, but several. Yesterday, the day before, fires had been burning in the woods. It might be wise to find some vantage point and see just where the beast now rearedContinue reading “High Summer Gold”

True he had only this small stone house and an old car that had belonged to Barbara and was still covered with all kinds of save the world and environment stickers. I found it curious that there was no bitterness in him, that he had no regrets. I believe it was his personality, his wit,Continue reading “Watcher, Giulio, George, Jean III”

Letter to myself, June 29, 2021  What did I do today? Well, let’s see. Today is almost over. Took Teah for her walk, along the cliff. Down below where cars are parked the patch of grass is brown. A haze of yellow stars belies the arid field, where barbed rye grass lurks in wait. AtContinue reading “What Did I Do Today? 2021”

Someone asked me – do you have many friends? I stop and think. Friends. Yes, I have a few. But not many. Friends who are there if I need them, or I am there if they need me. Who think more or less as I think, who have some depth to them. Friends. It’s notContinue reading “Watcher, Giulio, George, Jean II”

letter to myself    August, 2004 Six o’clock. What have I done today? Cut some bamboo shoots. Strange dark unlovely spikes, tender, hollow, futile last attempts to grow. Looked out the window. My mountains are still there, but you’re not here to share them with. Looked in a folder and found a letter. A letter IContinue reading “What Did I Do Today?”

My eyes were riveted On the refulgent screen With letters morphing into words As fingers tapped the keys. Suddenly, Out of the corner of my eye An emerald gleam Distracted me. A creature of some kind Was perched On the dark oak desk, Abdomen and thorax Glowing brilliant green. Behind two jointed stick-like legs  BentContinue reading “Distraction”

I always had trouble remembering how to spell his name. Beppe. Actually, of course, it was Giuseppe. But was it with one p or two? Did I stress that p sound enough?  It really didn’t matter.  Not that we would discuss philosophy or anything, but I might have to ask him not to give my small sonContinue reading “The Witch Doctor and the Rosary”

March 29, 1994 Amaryllis. corollas of blood-red petals flaring out immense from deeper darker throats moving out in waves of deepest scarlet lake alizarin and crimson madder. Menacing threatening to draw you in drown drag you down into those vast voracious mouths. From deep within each silken heart seven slender snaking tentacles searching heads upraisedContinue reading “Homage to Georgia O’Keeffe”

Vetralla, though, was on the other side of Orvieto, not far from Viterbo and the lake of Bolsena, on the Via Francigena, the pilgrimage route from France to Rome. We had been told there was a potter in Vetralla, who made traditional red ware, rather coarse, but beloved by the German tourists who come toContinue reading “Vetralla II”

October 17, 2013  Two small grey plastic clogs abandoned helter-skelter on the wet grey sand kicked off by the little boy who couldn’t wait to run into the water. A bolder wave arrives taking one in tow as it retreats. In that decisive pause  when gathering swell and outbound wave must come to terms,  IContinue reading “Tarquinia”

A brown earthenware cylinder, 9 inches high, 4 inches across. An opening cut into one side, all the way down to the bottom. Small triangular holes on either side – most still holding white clay rods, an inch or so long, that protrude towards the inside where shadows reign. It bears the signs of itsContinue reading “Vetralla”