In an antique shop

where cobwebs swag  the window, sunlight

flickering through the spider’s lace

I learn this word —



It rolls off a woman’s tongue

as she  stares at the poster

of  Shirley Temple

tap dancing on a  staircase. The black and white print

nuanced with tiny rips.


I cough

breathing in dust that covers

some old books, a brass

letter opener

bearing  secrets and fingerprints, other

similar mementos.


She hears me and turns around

whispering — I tell the pain

          that dances in my bones

          to go back, indietro,  into the child’s feet,


          The girl so happy, so blessed, can push it back

          with her bright shoes. Yes, back, backwards

          with  those narrow steps that wind ..


she stops. some tears,

gossamered on her face, as she looks down

and leaves. Now I stare


at the picture wondering

why I’ m  here. A place where they sell

Depression- era glass, and other nostalgia

from that age. Why I need to bring things


from behind

into my brand new house,  a monogrammed

handkerchief, a bunch of letters  with beautiful

penmanship from a person


I don’t even know — all calling back,  indietro,

a vintage soul.



6 replies on “Indietro”

Hi Sarah

So glad you enjoyed this, and I deeply appreciate your lovely commentary. It means alot to me, Thank you so !

Take care


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