Elegy in blue

for my stepfather, Peter

I screamed it:

at the top of my lungs,

facing the Mediterranean Sea,

and looking down at the subway tracks,

where broken memories dream.

I screamed it loud, at night,

in bed when I here you approaching,

and in the daytime too,

when no-one knows.

I screamed at the dead-lit stars,

at the crucifix.

I screamed it to the Lord Buddha

and to Jesus our Saviour

I screamed it at the reflection

in the fridge where the

prescriptions are;

at the empty medicine bottles

and the O₂ tank

I screamed it at these empty hands

that took your cane,

and at those that laid you to rest

on the operating tables.

I screamed and got the echo back,

the foreclosure of an unrequited prayer.