Three Poems by Frank Modica

Photo by David Underland on Unsplash

Cataracts

The eyes
the windows
into the soul
grow cloudy
as a spring day
in late April

such a small
betrayal
these blurred letters
on the page
whose promises
remain

unfulfilled

---

Photo by Denny Müller on Unsplash

Illusions

checking the mirror
with a comb in hand
I nurture the illusion

of hair covering the top
of my balding scalp

this denial
this

lie
a cosmetic sleight of hand
I mocked in my father

but I’m ok with it
now

---

Photo by Dilan Ortega on Unsplash

Shoebox

I am grapevines and olive trees

heavy-laden with broken promises,

I am basil leaves torn in ragged strips,

scattered over meager bowls of pasta.

I am fathers and sons clutching

their tools with work-worried hands.

I am weary farmers and fishermen

toiling in the oppressive summer heat,

working for another man's harvest

in the relentless, scorching sun.

I am a shoebox stashed in a closet;    

Calogero’s creased Italian passport.

Francesco’s Illinois Central pocket watch.

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About the Poet:

Frank C. Modica is a retired teacher who taught children with special needs for over 34 years. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Dust Poetry, New Square, Sheila-Na-Gig, and Willawaw Journal. Frank's first chapbook, “What We Harvest,” nominated for an Eric Hoffer book award, was published in the fall of 2021 by Kelsay Books. His second chapbook, “Old Friends,” was published this past December by Cyberwit Press.