Pizza Fatta In Casa

piercing sound

and familiar

the smell

or parmesan and mozzarella and dough

and that scream that i’ve heard before

in our apartment

in the city

i can hear laughing through the vent

softly at first and then bigger

i lie down on the floor to hear the stories you’re telling more clearly

“we crashed a wedding last weekend,

they had a guy playing electric fiddle

and someone giving out wristbands to the wedding party

all you can eat pizza”

your guests switch the conversation back to the present

“we should lift up the middle piece

see if there’s any colour”

the woman

“it still looks pretty naked under there”

and i’m on the floor of the kitchen

by the vent

with the wind and waves in my ears

and the orange sun in my eyes

smells

of parmesan and mozzarella and dough

and sounds of laughter and conviviality

in a time of darkness and separation and then

the alarm again.