Everybody Loves a Sicilian Girl

20 Jun

(Amy Tornabuoni)

I wish I could still
spend hours in her kitchen.
Espresso stains on the pages
of sketch paper sprawled before me.

Flour adrift
A cloud over my vision
and settling on bowls of ricotta
the god among cheeses

I wish I could still
hear her shout
“Mangia! Mangia!”
as though we needed the coaxing
to partake of the breaded veal
and mounds of meat sauce smothered ravioli

or explain the reality
of our own Palermo story
to this third generation
that hardly smells
of fish and olives any longer
and so desperately longs to

So Tony can travel there
He has the money
And Lindsay can date someone a little more “ethnic”
With darker skin
That perfect nose
An unaltered last name
And Michael can pretend to be a gangster all he wants
Pin-stripe suits and machine guns in his Halloween and senior pictures

Instead, I shall
bury my nose in a dictionary of a Tuscan vernacular
tote my Mario Puzo novels
make Biscotti Regina the way she used to
and make up my own mind.


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