Felix Culpa
by Doug Tanoury

I walk through an open-air market
On Saturday mornings in the Spring,
As I did with my grandparents as a boy,
And with my father in years before, but now
I hold her hand as we cut a path through
The crowds past stalls where farmers,
And flower peddlers bark goods and prices
With voices echoing from a cathedral-like
Clerestory and high ceiling.

The market is a long awning with red brick
Entrance arches in the Roman style,
Creating a patchwork of light and shadow.
We steal large purple grapes to feed each other,
And pick strawberries as big as apples from
Cardboard flats and hold them up to each
Other's mouth tempting one sinful bite.
I whisper chewing stolen fruit: "Felix Culpa"
She laughs and pushes another grape in my mouth.

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