I Madonnari

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 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."




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