Power of Pizza

I wrote this poem in the seventies. It is about an old man who gets a letter from his son in boston and says the pizza is well and sends him money so he can survive a bit longer. Remittances have always kept people going in far places. Money earned here benefits those in villages in Mexico, Greece or any place else. This poem has two stanzas. In the first the father talks of his life in the island and how he is weak and sick. His son in Boston writes him a letter to console him and send him some money. Anamartytos is a word I thought of means with no sin. I don't know if it is in the dictionary.

Papa-angelopoulos lay in a bed of pain thinking
on a little island named Nisyros in the Aegean,
May he make it.
My little son
who yesterday stayed and played in this doorway.
Now, now, the illness,
I am tied to the donkey pain and his brother
helplessness.

Dear father, the pizza is well. Please find some money
in this envelope, pure white and total,
as my love for you.
Boston fits the sixteen hour a day man,
Love, Anamartytos.