American Girl in Italy

How does the blue mold get in Gorgonzola? Have you ever heard the rocks at Castiglioncello sing and why do writers always seek solace in Italy? Time for me to find the answers to these and see, if in doing so, I also find my home.

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Name:
Location: Rome, RM, Italy

i am actually the lost royal heir to the small kingdom of Birundi...having been secreted away by my wet nurse when mean overlords arrived turning our little known, yet terribly chic fiefdom into a nasty republic. now my people sit glued with their eyes glazed.....dreaming of distant IRA's and stock options, having long forgotten the taste of sweet green olive oil and the scent of rosemary.

02 November 2005

FORVM ROMANVM

so there is this little readers and writers group in Rome that meets the first wednesday of the month at a little enoteca in Centro called Il Goccetto.

its our very own, twisted little Roman version of a quasi-New York City reading event and while the baby is still in its infancy, it appears to be growing into a healthy toddler that only occasionally knocks a wine glass off the table.

some less shy souls bring their own stuff, and with a little encouragement, read a bit in their native tongue. others bring works of names long familiar and we remember why it is they are called masters.

on any given evening you you can hear Romano dialect, or Napolitano, and talk centered on writing, writers, or just life in general.

tonight, if i am brave enough, i am going to dust off my rusty southern girl drawl and read in my best Scarlett O'Hara voice.

here's hopin' they understand me.

I Think I’ve Finally Figured It All Out


Being a good girl,
doesn’t necessarily help you win
in this cotillion
we go 'round callin' life.


I’ve played by the rules…
Actin’ fit and proper….
When I felt bound, gagged and tied.


Been so polite that
butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth
Even bowed my head
when I felt like
kickin’ up my heels…

And where has it gotten me…
Absolutely f uckin’ nowhere.

I look down at my accomplishments
and what I see is half a person,
livin’ half a life…

One day I opened my eyes
and realized I was livin’ life
with my dreams
tucked safely away inside my pocket
like pennies for a rainy day.

How did I ever become so afraid to live?
Where did I get this warped perception
that this was how life was supposed to be….

This little epiphany,
this new found self awareness,
knocked me just about flat on my ass…
It was like swimmin’ at the beach
in a seventy mile an hour hurricane.
Like standin’ in the middle of a wheat field
when that cyclone sucked Dorothy straight up to Oz….

When I finally figured it out, I thought…
"Hey!
You’re not in Kansas anymore Todo"
And a light bulb when off in my head….
Cracking into a thousand shards…
scattered bright like in the corners of my mind.

I awakened, as if from a dream…
with a sense of drive and courage
I’d forgotten I had possessed
and suddenly I noticed the world wasn’t
black and white anymore,
by golly! It was Technicolor!

Excited,
I grabbed hold of this one life
I have to live,
before the dust had a chance to settle
And said…(havin’ figured it all out)…
"On your mark….
Get set….
Go!"

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

DEar Sparrow,
Half a woman you'll never be --maybe woman and a half. I love your poem and it has provided me with inspiration for a new methodology in 2006--Hell hath better help those who get in my way! I hope you had a wonderful Christmas at home...I am ready to return to Rome--partially recharged I think. See you soon! Baci from the Midwest,
Jami and Tony

January 02, 2006 8:47 PM  

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