always in mourning

in the old neighborhood

in south

philly

all the italian

women seemed to be in mourning

for something

or someone.

there was always a death,

a reason

to put the black

on.

the shroud,

to hold the rosary beads

and mumble

through

the prayers.

you'd see them on the street,

at the stores.

in front of their row

houses

scrubbing their

marble porches.

opening the windows to

let the stench

of death out.