Galileo's Fingers by Sandy Hiss

Curious onlookers and tourists with digital
cameras slowly inch their way towards 
the preserved shrunken treasure.  Above, 
Florence's burnt sienna sky yawns at the line 

of human ants trailing around stone fountains
overflowing with coins and ungranted wishes; 
a common scene occurring everyday with the 
familiar lineup of crying babies, bald men 

with fat bellies, and stick-thin women 
snapping open their compacts for one last 
fling with their reflections.  Did Galileo 
ever imagine that pieces of him would scatter 

like the stars he studied.  Only to have a few 
fingers; a thumb and middle finger yanked away, 
displayed for over 300 years. The lone middle 
finger prominent beneath a sky of glass. Perhaps 

pointing once again towards the heavens 
or replying to skeptics who never believed
in things unseen by the naked eye.

Sandy Hiss writes poetry and short fiction. She has always been intrigued by haunted houses, ancient cemeteries, forests, gardens, and abandoned buildings.