Antonio wondered where spring had gone.
\nHe wondered if the houses missed him
\nin Sicily.
\nHow the church looked at mass.
\nDid they ask, where is Antonio?
\nWhere is Antonio?
\nWould the priest know?
\nWould someone tell him?
\nHe is in America.
\nHe misses the olive trees.
\nNo one hears him singing.
\nHe is in America and the village is gone.
\nThe cranking wheels of the carts
\nare silent.<\/p>\n
He is in America looking off
\non a porch,
\nand his heart is breaking
\nfor the air,
\nthe smell,
\nthe light,
\nthe chatter of his beloved language.
\nThe hot summer
\nwith its blue mornings of fog
\nin the hills.
\nThe taste of real wine.
\nThe dress of the women.
\nDo they remember him?
\nWill he ever see them again?
\nGo back?<\/p>\n
The money, the money.
\nWill there ever be enough?
\nCan he be young again?
\nAntonio cries.
\nHe tastes the air.
\nWhy was it so real there?
\nSo full of dust and fragrance?
\nAh! The vegetables, the fish,
\nthe pasta with sun in it.
\nThe yellow vanilla color.<\/p>\n
He looks for Rosa.
\nCan she take him back?
\nCan they return together?
\nFor a day, a week?
\nSometime,
\nwhen everything is done.
\nWhen a little money is saved.
\nOh, the taste of oil on the lettuce.
\nThe savor of the sauces!
\nEver again?
\nAntonio looks at the ground
\nand closes his eyes.
\nHe is in Sicily where the sea ends.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Antonio wondered where spring had gone. He wondered if the houses missed him in Sicily. How the church looked at mass. Did they ask, where…<\/p>\n