Lost in the Mail

Hidden in the Trevi fountain, on the lemons of Schiazzano, down Campo Marzio’s cobblestone streets, I see your face. You are the blonde dog with green eyes at a breakfast cafe, licking up melted pistachio gelato at nine in the morning, tail wagging to the tempo of a soft pant. I call your name from across the piazza, but it seems like you can’t hear me. At the Sunday morning market, I buy grapes for a date, red ones, because the green were too tart. Sometimes sweet things sting your teeth, leaving a lingering, frigid feeling. I want to take you to the Pantheon, where we can admire the midday light flooding the oculus, and the once vibrant walls toned down with time. Then to see the paintings of the Sant’Agnese in Agone, regarding golden angels dancing in lavish silks. Here the royal blue of ceiling canvas has yet to fade, the sanctity remains. The men there have your smile. It is carved into marble. In the evening, your spirit scales ancient steps, with marinara on its lips. Pasta feels foreign in the historic corners of Ariccia, where lovers come and go, but leave remnants in the form of history. At dusk, a purple sky sets on the balmy Mediterranean I swim in. We wade in the shallow water, then step deeper and deeper into the sea. You whisper to me from across the Atlantic to Sorrento; midnight wind floods the coast in your voice. Your voice, I haven’t heard it in so long. 

This piece was inspired by a true, specific moment in time, when I travelled to Italy while trying to maintain a romantic relationship oversees. Since we spoke everyday, it felt like he was with me on my trip, and I spent much of it imagining how different things would be if he truly was. In the end, he was not a good person for me and ended up breaking my heart. This poem tries to reflect all these feelings in a simple way.