Appalachia

27 Jun

(Amy Tornabuoni)

The car is packed yet again
for yet another unknown destination
another place I’ve never been.
Another town where there are only two Italian restaurants:
very expensive
and Olive Garden.
Wouldn’t it be nice to just…
live somewhere?
Maybe longer than a year?

But…

10% doesn’t seem like such a big number until you’re part of it,
and your mother handing you a cup of coffee
says
“Don’t worry, you’ll find a job.”
Every day,
for months,
while you notice the coffee getting weaker.

And “you can’t eat beauty,”
Zio said.

My mountains are in my heart
just like the sea
which I’ve never laid eyes on.

Coal mines
combine slowly in my mind’s eye
with tomato stands
Oaks
with Olives
and Ford trucks with their Firestones
with the donkey
stereotypically assigned them.

My mountains
and the burnt out factories I pass
where Nonna came
to make fire-safe irons from asbestos…
driving by
the open sea
waves beating me back
as I seek
My own Golden Door.

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