Thoughts of Home

April 13, 2008

He talked of travelling once;
I’d love to show you Italy, he said.

The only response was a soft laughter
and amusement crinkling at the eyes
turned a soft brown, like the deeply furrowed earth
with a back ground of green hills
and woody grape vine. My eyes.

How does one explain ‘knowing’?
How do you explain about a small town,
with streets so old and tiny that cars cannot pass:
that people walk, or ride a bike.

Somewhere in my soul resides the sea,
Arco Felice calls me in my sleep.
My first memory is of the sun on cobblestone streets
and the Italian tile upon which I learned
to crawl.