I look at Rosa in the picture.
\nHow the years weathered her skin
\nwith the patina of age,
\nwifely duties,
\nplain as the hills of her forgotten Sicily.
\nTime left its palm print on her face.
\nA grandmother\u2019s picture,
\nfault lines and furrows,
\nsorrow and wisdom.<\/p>\n
The girl had disappeared,
\nthe young mother picnicking
\non the hill of a vanished village.
\nThe woman in the picture is all I know.
\nRosa, betrothed to Antonio,
\na century ago.
\nThe way of earth,
\nof children,
\nof dreams drifting in the attic.
\nIn pictures,
\nremnants of a day when you spoke,
\nand put people at the table,
\nscolded Antonio,
\ngasped for breath and laughed,
\nand gave up trying to put life together.<\/p>\n
It flew apart, Rosa.
\nLove exploded like a star,
\ndeath came in spring\u2019s rain,
\nflowers came and went with summer,
\nand the girl from Sicily fell asleep.
\nI see it in the picture.
\nYou were not perfect.
\nYou groped your way.
\nYou lost so much
\nin the years that flew away.
\nYou were only a girl,
\nbeautiful as Sicily.
\nAntonio\u2019s love.
\nAdieu, adieu, adieu.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I look at Rosa in the picture. How the years weathered her skin with the patina of age, wifely duties, plain as the hills of…<\/p>\n