The g in Paglioni
is apparently
silent,
with the i
the sound of e
(robbing it
of a kingly
lion’s mane),
while the e itself
is long and clearly
Italian,
though we’d have
guessed it simply
by the décor,
the bottles of Abruzzo
on the wall,
the scent of fettuccini
in the air—
but this isn’t
consequential,
it’s not a Yelp
review,
it’s all about
the g
and its refusal
to hold its weight,
its obsession
with its stealth,
its channelling
Marcel Marceau,
or like the cat
of Cary Grant,
scaling the many roofs
To Catch a Thief,
that it should be
rooves instead of
roofs, like hooves
and a single hoof,
that the horse
has got it right
despite its neigh,
the shyness
that comes and
goes,
inside our alphabet’s
seventh letter,
hooking us along
either way—
soundless as a feather,
roaring
like a Roman
god.
Andreas Gripp
February 23, 2024
RF Image