Church, Ostuni, and: Byzantine

Abstract

Church, Ostuni, and: Byzantine Miriam O'Neal (bio) Church, Ostuni On the highest hill, above the sea,the Church of the Annunciationknown for its Bourbon flourishesand its frescoes of the cousins,Mary and Elisabeth. The story goes that when the Alliesbegan bombing the harbor, the faithfulrushed to the church to sandbag their saintsagainst concussion, but the less protectedcousin suffered, losing a portion of her arm—a chunk of her foot, parts of her halo flaked to dustthe priest swept up. In the dim of candles lit for nickelsto bless the dead, Mary gazes past usat her cousin's face and upturned wrist,the open hand that floats without its arm,the broken foot. Before the Angel spoke, Elisabeth had already toldMary her fate—a child, unexpected, loved.I remember my mother's sister knowing the sameof me—how she watched me from a distance,silent, smiling. That night, when the people of Ostuni ran up the hill,miles overhead each navigator calledlongitudes and latitudes to his bombardiers.As above, so below—in each pair of handsa crossing in every mouth, a prayer. [End Page 57] Byzantine When Saint Francis cut off Saint Clare's hairin a gesture of consecration, we might assumehis brothers bore witness to her state of grace,praying over her small body for her soul. But in the frescoes by Il Maestrodi Santa Chiara, the men don't watch.Like a bad family photograph, they look everywhere,as if a bird had flown in and surprised themjust as the aperture opened, and another birdcalled from a branch as it closed. Even Francis seems distracted.One hand holding scissors, the othera hank of Saint Clare's hair, he's looked away.As I traverse the circle of the crypt, I tryto coalesce that scene into some kind of meditation, but end each time, with a memoryof the night our neighbor, Carl, volunteeredto try to fit our family of fifteen into a singlesilver space. Each pop and hissof the Nikon's flash a small explosion. That day the same birds worked the air—my little brothers bug-eyed in every frame,and one sister who was clearly thinking sad thoughtswhile the youngest twisted on her toes in holey socksbetween our parents whose focus locked on the middle distance because they couldn't imaginehow to pose with their kids at Christmas.And in the lower left-hand corner of every proof,the grainy blur of our blonde lab's wagging tail. [End Page 58] Miriam O'Neal miriam o'neal's, The Body Dialogues (Lily Poetry Review Books, 2020) was nominated for a 2020 Massachusetts Art of the Book award. A 2019 Pushcart Prize nominee, a Finalist in the 2017 Brian Turner Poetry Prize and the 2019 Disquiet International Poetry Competition, she lives in Plymouth MA. Copyright © 2023 University of North Dakota