Kolt: [poem to her Italian teacher] Sometimes there's a person who you know looks right. Their skin is fine, like a linen cloth, and their hair is the color of night. And they walk. And when they walk, that walk makes ladies turn to their window and admire. All the ladies in the town, with their secret things that they want. You were this man, in the town from which you came. But this - this is not your town. And when you speak, your words are snakes I swat at with swords. They crawl into parts of me, and I kill them with kindness I can't afford. I see you with the accurate eyes of the sun. You think you're imprinting yourself in my memory, a man with the power to teach. You will never have anything or anyone you want. Least of all, me. If I were to tell my mother and the others, we would laugh at you, louder than we have all along.
