Pedestrians scrape the sidewalks, cars twist on the asphalt streets. Dogs lie panting, tongues out, while fumes and brake dust thicken the air and sting eyes here.
Joseph A. Farina’s poem moves through ritual, offering food, wine, and prayer to the returning dead. Memory rises from the earth, and grief becomes a shared table.
Joseph A. Farina recalls the first rush of movement that felt like escape. Wind, wheels, and wonder fuse into one long exhale called freedom.
J. A. Farina frames dawn in vapor and glass—faces caught between trains and time. The smallest gestures echo longest, and even light seems to whisper its goodbyes.
Joseph A. Farina recalls a Catholic childhood where reverence met routine, and Good Friday’s solemn rituals—paper veils, pressed shirts, whispered prayers—etched belief into the bones of ordinary children.
Joseph A Farina’s The Art of Sneaking In remembers brazen childhood schemes to enter games—dangerous, inventive, and born of little money and a lot of nerve.