Slava Groshev
She was a
strega:
I saw her
making magic
in the
kitchen, giving life to a tired dough
and to shy soap
bubbles in the verandah.
I was 6 but
I still can see her calloused hands
and long
hair in a bun.
She didn’t
have much when she arrived here:
just a
suitcase crammed with memories:
she would
never forget the roads to Paola
and the sunsets
in Calabria.
I liked when
she opened that magical box
and showed
me my past with so much pride.
Those
pictures are still the fire in my hands.
Somebody told
me she married a man
who loved
her deeply. He had deep green eyes.
When he
died, she wore black forever
and let her
hair grow.
She was already
an old woman in her 30’s.
I remember
she hid her wedding photo
in the
closet. Whenever you opened it,
you would
see her smiling.
Maybe it
was there to remind her of whom
she once
was.
When I think
of her, I feel
I was
loved.
I could
never be as strong as she was
or have
half of her brute tenderness.
When I am
gone, I hope she can be
waiting for
me with her ever open arms.
Grandma was
a strega.
She bewitched
me with her language
and light.
When I look
back, I saw a young girl
running through
the fields of yesterday
and I don’t
mind telling you all
I am crying
as I write this poem.
“Io ti voglio bene”
“Anche io amore mio, anche io”
Karla Bardanza
Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2012
Karla, what a beautiful tribute! This is one of the most beautiful poems of yours to date! Love my friend.
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