Poem 24

Counting Down! 6 more and then we'll end the agony for both of us...


Today's prompt, something about writing a travel poem...




On Not Returning to Italy


In Italy, I understood to be successful
I needed to not regret
I spent our rent money on a painting
of the moon in a reddish sky.
That summer we walked through Venice
as if we had a map of broken statues.
We pointed to the corners
of buildings we thought no one noticed,
the collision of saint and sky.
I understood my life was already
falling into place, the history of what I should do
like the notes of philosophers, I studied
the patterns of women in the piazzas—
whose shadow glittered, whose shadow
dimmed? And we learned not to regret
the little things that changed us—
the rip across the gondolier’s shirt,
the pigeon that refused our bread,
how you whispered to me as we stood
in a crowd of strangers, said, I’m glad you are here
even if this is the last time we meet.