Amelia dell'Umbria

12/10/15

i used to write long poems in which anything could happen,
love as sick as love.
though always it felt inevitable.

though it broke me.
there are lentils on the high apennine plateau
whose flowers i have not seen.
though i saw the mountains in the distance
from a car window
as we drove out of terni.

is it sane to go
that close to someone
and if not

is sanity worth it.

but it broke you, madeleine.
i walked alone down through the city
out the great stone doors of the porta romana,
aspettando qualcuno.
an old man in the park found my bare thigh,
put his hand there.

i had come from the golden cathedral, 

one of many i found empty at the crowns of cities and entered
alone.

sei bella, he said,
which meant whore in any language.