Do You Smile For Us? by Vincent Calvarese


Do You Smile For Us?


You sit quietly

as you were brushed.

Centered in the First Arrondissement,

Bank right of the Seine,

West, in the old Île de la Cité

Do you smile for us?


Your name is whispered

but broken, with wings

in fragments.

Mo, mo, mo…

to languages far away

na, na, na…

Your gauzy veil,

the jocund one

Do you smile for us?


Stanchions of velvet

surround your bust.

Your luminescent skin

down to the pit of your throat.

A bullet for those who dare

to love you, Gioconda,

arms folded with your light touch

Do you smile for us?


Schillings opus

rendered your beauty silent

until the libretto from Beatrice

awakened your kindred spirit,

sharing your subtlety with the world.

Though your allure had been stolen,

your voice echoed again

in the Valley of Tuscany.

Your grace and refinement,

vanishing no more.

Do you smile for us?


The scrutiny of man

always and questions

of your origin left to answer.

A second child born

versus the patient wife

to the matriarch of Da Vinci.

Do you smile for us?


Your eyes

that shift to your lips

Your centuries old illusion

Your mysterious simper

that acid touched

Now and forever


greeting us

Do you smile for us?


Vincent Calvarese was born in Walnut Creek, California and has worn many hats in the Bay Area–barista, salesperson, journalist, graphic designer, union representative, deputy sheriff, homeless advocate and published writer and poet. After a long educational hiatus, he returned to City College of San Francisco in August 2017. He states he had become a lazy writer. His poetic work Grief was published in Forum in December 2017.

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