This is ancient land, this is
       hallowed ground, this is
21 kilometers worth of tunnels.  

Blood stops flowing after death
                                                          becaus­e the heart is no longer beating;
no longer forcing blood to gush through veins and arteries and vessels.  
It gets lazy, becomes stagnant.  
Slowly slides down to the
                                               lowest point on the body; creates a
                                          reddish purple discoloration on the skin
similar to a bruise, but not quite the same thing.  

          This is what I imagine the fifth level of the catacombs to look like:
                                           a reddish purple discoloration
                                          spread across my mother’s back.  

This is what I see when I close my eyes and rub them a bit too hard for a bit too long.  This is what I see when I look into a hole in the stone walls that is big enough to fit an infant.  This is what I see in the reflection of the Trevi Fountain.  This is what I see when I try to remember the shape of my mother’s sleeping body as it curled in on itself on top of a flat hospital mattress.  

The color of death is not black, is not white.  The
color of death is the color of blood: the way it looks
through the skin after having
                                                       hours and
                                                                ­            days and
                                 weeks to
slowly slink down into the
lowest bend of the body.  

This is the reddish umbra of the earth that the
                                                                             eclipsed moon hides behind.  
This is my body given for you.  
Take and eat.  
                                                  Do this is the remembrance of
                                                                ­                                                me.

it's soaring through flaming green hills
your heart races with the curiosity of discovery
it's dancing on a secluded mountaintop
with the drunken energy of a motorino zipping.
it's the endless time spent laughing
lips tingling with wine and philosophy
furiously awaiting l'autobus
and saying basta to the pasta.
the hazelnut aroma of hot cappuccini,
and suddenly you have the bravery
to get lost alle tre in Trestevere.
it's watching sunrays part mountains and Corinthian columns
and sparkling on salty waters
and you inch toward the edges of cliffs
just to catch a glimpse.
it's the comfort of friends and Nutella
when Ryanair lands and Rome becomes Home
and life, and death, and carbs follow you.
it's the homeless and the hungry
sleeping in the strong arms of St. Peter
and disappointment and shame
consumes you.
it's sobbing when you are alone,
foreign, and strange
and sobbing when it's time to say
arrivederci
it's when you fall, your stupid heel caught between cobblestones
that you realize you're in love.

Too A.M.
Electric, as laughter statics to music
and stars battle, self-consciously
refusing to be outshined.
Glowing, fires
an Italian moon
of the countryside
whispers, for a moment.
and forever is now,
and the Moirai dance
and the moon, bewitched
and souls intertwined.

I talk a lot,
And a lot of it sounds
Like I have you in a stranglehold.

I can't hold up the facade tonight.

I must admit,
I cannot bear you tonight.

I don't want a memory
Of anything you ever did
Positive, negative
Or in the limbo in between.

Love is all I had for you,
Even when I saw the cracks
Forming in your armor
And I knew you could not love me.

I knew you were finished,
And tonight, it's all I know.

I should have never said a word to you.

You were a calculated surgeon
Who paid no mind to anesthesia.

Your hands were in the fire too.

We both knew we were hundreds
And hundreds of miles from each other...

But I was willing to run the gauntlet.

I wanted to bear the burden of time
With you alone,
And you said it was of no importance
Any longer.

How dare you.

How dare you lie to me
For this span of a hundred days,
And trade books under the sunlight
Because you knew they were safe
In the possession of the one you held dear...

You could turn the most caring man
Into Savonarola.

There is nothing darker than the putrid soul of your heart
Crusted by burnt desires and pyroclastic ash
Tortured by your existence, dipped into the hells of mankind

Bubbling skin and singed mercy embrace me whole
Turn up flames and burn me alive
Hear my screams ****** your mind

Cast me out of the dead, for I am not leaving
Laid in a forever coma then awakened
Pompeii is dead, Pompeii is dead, Pompeii is dead

The way fig flesh
Folds itself
into each hour,
its skin rubbed
from gray to
purple, bitten into
yellow prickled with
gold seeds stuck
to your lips. It’s
late, maybe midnight
or two we’re not sure
as our feet trip
over stone streets and
we bid the other
buona notte.
I am hungry and
very much wanting
***. Instead
I sauté the
zucchini blossoms
my host mom
bought all’mercado.
and in her kitchen
I lick
the mouth of the
olive oil bottle as
the petals pucker
in her cast iron
pan and then with
a whisper of salt
they are burning
my mouth as I
pluck
each
from the pan, oil
dripping down my
wrists and after I
am still hungry
and very much
wanting ***
but I decide
it’s enough
to have figs and
zucchini blossoms
and I go to bed,
my mouth tasting
something
like a melody.

I remember it as if were yesterday
VE Day...well, not exactly
but, close enough for me
The actual surrender of Italy
May 2, 1945....but the **** Americans
Always the Americans wanted May 8
So, it's May 8th, but I'll always remember the second
We were in Milan...I love Milan
****** was dead, Mussolini was dead
I was alive, and in Milan
Rumours were out that the war in Europe was almost done
Nobody had told the Gerry's that though
Word came from Lubeck that they'd surrendered
I was twenty one years old, going on 50
War ages you...and not in a good way
I was in 6th Airborne and ready to go back
When the word came down
I remember kissing the waitress at our cafe
I kissed her hard, and with as much passion as a 21 yr. old can have
I didn't want to let her go
It was over
I kissed her for myself, and everyone in Milan
I kissed her for my folks in Clapham
I kissed her for her folks, wherever they were
I kissed her because we were free, they were free
I kissed her for my Uncle, who we lost early in 1941
Lost him during the blitz in London
England lost 430 people, we lost Uncle Cyril
That was enough, I was signing up
Now, it was over and I was moving on
I kissed her for everyone still waiting for the news
But, most of all, I kissed her for Leslie Testro, Rfn (18yrs)
Lance Cpl Thomas Wray (22 yrs), Lt. Dennis Edmonds (21 yrs)
and all the others attached to 6th Airborne
Who wouldn't know it was Victory in Italy
They were lost, not forgotten, never forgotten
Forever in our minds, our roll of honour
We celebrate them annualy
Few of us left now, but, those that are
go back to Italy every two or three years
back to Milan, and we toast them all
My waitress, Rosa Testrini
She was there as well, every year
Until five years back, we lost her
Now we toast her as well
We all have our honour roll
She was on mine
I found her again in 1950
We were on our second trip back
She met my wife, and I her husband
He's still there, and we talk
My Italian is better than his English
But, we talk as well as we can
I miss her, and the others
But that day, that glorious day in May
I've never kissed like that since
And my wife knows it
Sometimes she reminds me...
I laugh, and remind her....
What that day means...if it hadn't happened
We may not be kissing now
so, she'll never get that kiss
Only Rosa
Rest In Peace my waitress

All your life
has been clinging
to this cliff edge.
You spent years taunting
the growling waters below.
Not even the storms --
in all their fury --
Could pry you from your rock.
          Rooted Conqueror, you were.

But now the time has come
for you to reach up, up, up.
Stretching your heart up
into the celestial bodies.

Defying the constant wind,
You flower.
For the first, only time
In your life
You show the world
Your beauty, inside
That at your center,
Blooms of sunlight
were just waiting to burst.

And burst they do,
Tall as the trees,
And your brave, defiant spirit
Is Released.

Leaving your body behind to brown and wither
       Empty now.
That resilient spirit gone.
The carcass and its roots
Fall into the roaring sea.

Vorrei la foto tua
d'un tempo andato
amore mio adorato

–per esserci, con te

quand'eri giovane abbastanza
per non sentire ancora
la mia predestinata

–assenza