Week of Death
3rd of December - Isabella
Ever since Mamma and Papà died
in mysterious circumstances (poisoning?)
when I was only five,
I have always been intimate with Death.
My three older brothers,
Osso, Mastrosso, and Carcagnosso,
are my guardians and run the family business
(you would not even guess what it is,
but it employs half the population here in Messina town).
My beloved Lorenzo, that adorable valet,
so charming and so cute,
did not return from his errand in Palermo.
I thought he had left me for another girl
when his ghost, with his severed head under his arm,
haunted me a fortnight ago.
He told me hitmen sent by my three brothers
(apparently, a servant was not good enough a suitor)
beheaded and buried him in the pinewoods.
So off I stole there in secret with a knapsack,
unearthed and took his severed head,
and now it fertilises a basil plant,
buried in the plant pot.
It is the same basil that our cooks put in our pasta,
and sometimes I water it with my tears
while thinking about how my darling Renzo was betrayed.
Oh, if only my brothers Osso, Mastrosso, and Carcagnosso
knew, while scarfing down pasta al pesto at the table,
what leaves the pesto is made of!
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