Poems from Italy

Poesia di Italia



On Activism

When they ask you why you do this you will tell them…
It is because I suffered greatly, and responded with peace.

When they ask you why you do this, you will tell them…
It is because I could not bear to see the suffering of others any longer.

When they ask you why you do this, you will tell them…
It is because I realized that their suffering was my suffering.

When they ask you why you do this, you will tell them…
There was never a why, only duty.

This is a choice that bears no resemblance to choice.



Whirling Dervishes

One day I will wear all white
And I will spin and spin and spin
Until I know not whether it is from my chest
Or between my legs
That my sex overflows,
Dangles.
I will know not the intention
Of my outstretched arm—
A violent stroke,
A slap in the face of the wind,
Or a caress,
Stroking the air like a new lover.
Is the gasp first taken after resurfacing
From a turn with the seafloor
An aggressive attack
Against death,
Or an ecstatic swallowing?

One day I will wear all white
And I will spin and spin and spin
Until I know not whether I am body or breeze,
Or both—
Lovers reunited.



The Game of Telephone

How are you?

How are you? Come va?

Come va? Cac di lam?

Harasho.

Harasho. Benne.

Benne. Good.

Good. Spacibo.



Shadow Light

There are many spokes of the sun
The moon has only one shadow
Of bright light on the ground.
Imagine a house with all the lights on as if evening
But it is bright and clear outside—
A Magritte painting—
Do not sit as a dark vessel in the sunshine.
Light up your being so that your shadow can dance on the earth.



Udine at Night

The heater is snoring intermittently,
An occasional motorist outside,
One neon meringue light burns
A hole through my window.
Otherwise, darkness.
In several hours:
The jagged mountain ridge appears
Like a child’s first handmade paper snowflake;
Above it strips of indigo, cobalt—
Oceanic air.
A splash of pink and the night is gone.



Zalina (Sublimation)

Your eyes cry out to me,
Yet your figure remains solid—
You defy the laws of matter:
Your heart is not burned in the wake of explosion;
You do not shrink and yet you have lost so much.
Like crème brule
You do not break on impact.
But your eyes give everything away in their liquid.
Sorrow, a vapor that hovers around you.
This bittersweet sublimation.



Postage stamp of a land that we used to live on

The reservation.