I Madonnari
I Madonnari We sprinkle in our mira mama between isles of chalk artists. On hands and knees they make from pure black top art happen. Some work alone, others in teams. My children's tongues teem with questions. "Who is that?" "Jesus's mom." "Did you see?!" "A Eurasian owl!" "They always hide the best ones!" (Crane Country Day School, my oldest gave that title to you.) We go early to the festival, because my sister says we will avoid the crowds. From the blacktop of their childhood may they say, rather, "We'd go early to the festival to talk to all the artists."
