Of terraced hillsides and verdant fields.
Of generations of some farmer’s grapevines
And golden oil bottled at Rocca degli Olivi.
Of tunnels of Italian cypress,
Where smiling grandmothers
Walk bicycles along ancient roadbeds.
Of small cafés, lingering over bowls of pasta pomodoro
And fragola gelato.
Of red geraniums and a villa’s gaping windows,
Where you can drape your body
And breathe the view.
When I dreamed of Italia,
This is what I dreamed.
Barbara L. Steinberg
June 20, 2006