my lips sweet and moist from purple wine i am staggering past the statues of bacchus and exaggerated monuments of glory. travelling alone, all by myself, but always in good company, my feet sore from walking on the grounds of historical places that make me feel like travelling in time. renaissance palazzi that remind me of cyrano’s poems and medieval churches where i feel the presence of Mary, the goddess of the tuscan hills, spilling her fertile blessings on the soil. and i feel the presence of her Son’s love to the people. and the powerful words of his Father, within the silence of the tombs.
and i am beginning to think of my own mother. the woman who gave birth to me. and i think of all the times when we did not understand each other. and i think of all the times we argued, tried to hurt each other, with words, so powerful. but has not God given us words to reconcile? and has He not given us the power of language to pray? so, i take the flame and light another candle.
mum, i went to all the places you been.
asking people i did not know to take a picture
i was searching for something we have in common
in the past and in the future
life is short, mum
i love you