Separate things

(Magritte, Infinite Gratitude - 1963)

As for who I was

leave it in the past

together with 

the settled dust

and the leftovers.

As for who I am

take it out for dinner

and journeys to places

my feet have never been to

not even in dreams.

(Ekphrastic poem for NaPoWriMo's early birds)

I learned this

I've searched the night
five weeks in a row
for traces of you.

There is a sleepless man
for every dog
barking in the neighborhood.

Each howl connects
to a soul's cry somewhere
in muted desolation.

To the first man who left

There are things
we kept secret after
growing up and apart.

Because they were
so dear to our hearts
they became treasures.

My most painful cry still
dwells on the very corner where
you announced you were leaving.

I never watched the stars
or the city lights with anyone else
from our spot.

I visit it occasionally and
you might be glad to hear that
birds live in our place now.

Someone planted a tree there
and its undisturbed shade
reminds me of your arms.

(Written for the Imaginary Garden Sunday Mini Challenge)

On Walmer Beach

My first encounter
with the sea happened
in southeastern Kent.

Had there been other people
on the beach, I would have
felt foolish for crying.

The water and the sky,
a gray-blue mix
of quiet and solitude.

The spots of poppies
among the pebbles,
the smell of licorice.

On my first encounter
with the sea we sat speechless
across from each other.

There was calm,
timid love in the waves
for me.

(Last night I dreamed of the sea, which I don't know, for the first time.)

Meant for the fire

Gli adulti (the adults) were always having 

conversazioni di adulti (adult conversation) while 

we sat around them and played 

with the flames of the old oil lamps,

i bambini della mia famiglia (the children in my family): 

lost in long conversations

with the salamanders.

Se ti bruci, ti spacco la faccia (if you burn yourself, I'll break your face)! 

- a loving promise.

Lascia soli i capretti (leave the kids alone)!  

- a protective cry. 

Le donne della mia famiglia (the women in family)

were all too busy 

for the fire spirits.

But we danced together and
learned some beauty from them:

that we can bear any inferno (hell), 

that skin cannot be our only belief, 

that a great deal of self-awareness is contained in pain,

that we are born from a quite unique spark

e siamo fatti per il fuoco (and we are meant for the fire).
    

(Written for Susan's Midweek Motiff: In two or more languages, I'm having a bad moment with my mother tongue, that's why I chose to go my third language, Italian. This poem is also shared with The Imaginary Garden)