Washington, D.C.
Marble is sticking to wet leaves,
Walls are dripping from ivy,
Pillars drift and become as trees,
Wide rivers of reflected light drown the streets,
The earth rises and the city is less real,
Monuments and memorials
Cling lightly to the air.
Behind the Greek facade
A sea, as in the pages of Homer,
A sea within words,
Within windows and walls.
Our reflections on the glass
Of a transparency
Between extinction and captivity.
When you never leave the place
Where you were born,
You are more like a tree than a person.
An old person, an old tree,
With roots deep under the city.
And when you’re with others
Who talk of exotic lands,
You remain silent,
Feeling the strong winds of fate
Moving through your crown of leaves,
From every direction
Space entering your branches.
And they who are speaking
Become more and more distant,
The voices of birds
Departing for southern skies.
Halcyon mornings can save a marriage,
The glittering lake is level to the bright land,
Blue is suffused with the stillness of sand
As we breathe air from another realm
And our senses waken unaware.
Even in distraction and despair
We are spellbound by the silence,
Inundated by a placid flood of heat and light,
Permeated by quiescence,
The children playing, as in a lakeside painting,
Pacified by a powerful calm.
All is quiet in us, our vows unvoiced,
Arguments overwhelmed and soundless as the shore,
Lulled by tranquilized hours
Far from chaos and confrontation,
Healed in respite of all turbulence and storms.
My childhood was a sea voyage,
A barbershop and the ringing of a mandolin,
Summer stars through grape leaves,
Prickly pears and fig trees,
Snails creeping out of straw baskets,
Silence and violence.
My childhood was like a stuffed baby alligator
That swims in the swamp of memory,
Twice haunted twin sisters
Who survived a plane crash,
Playing cards scattered on a table,
Voices shoveling graves.
My childhood was a broken accordion,
A wine-press pressing the sun,
Chinese faces at the market,
Hunting rifles behind glass,
Dried eel at the fish store,
Rain of motherless time.
They could not decide what to take first,
So they took everything.
They took everything and promised to return,
So the others took the nothing
They had left and hid it away.
They had no trouble hiding it.
Weeks later they returned
Demanding the nothing they left behind.
The others refused, they refused,
Claiming nothing was all they had.
So they went away to plan.
They sent their scouts
To search for the nothing.
They searched all morning.
They peered into forests.
They overturned rocks.
They parted the water
But always found something.
Determined to find nothing
They said to surrender nothing
Or be slaughtered,
But the others refused
And prepared for battle.
So the battle lasted years.
They forgot about nothing
And kept killing over nothing.
Bodies burned into nothing.
Nothing was left behind.
Legend has it, nothing was never found.
To this day there is still nothing.
If you weigh the stars in the balance
Glaciers are nurseries of the stars.
They are weighbridges to the borealis,
Ice roads into isolated communities.
They’re hydroelectric power plants,
Evolutionary clocks, mammoth museums,
Icebox mountains of organic matter.
Meltwaters surge from the summits
Enlivening salmon in summer streams,
Nourishing the valley with snowmelt.
Glaciers are a kind of counterweight
To their own absence tipping the scale.
Once gone, what could replace glaciers
That we’d not burn in water/drown in fire.
Nothing but roses,
Nothing but kisses of red wine and roses
For a distant relative on a ship’s Manifest.
We’ll meet at the port when I depart.
A rose tattoo for your soul,
Bouquets of foaming waves.
Rose per Rosa, o comprato stasera…
Roses covering the deck of the Sicilian Prince
And roses in America.
Maria Juana,
With you I strum a green guitar.
Maria Juana,
With you I know the sound of laughter.
Maria Juana,
With you I celebrate friendship.
Maria Juana,
With you I know the body is smoke.
Maria Juana,
With you I breathe another air.
Maria Juana,
With you I dance to naked music.
Maria Juana,
With you I live a waking dream.
Maria Juana,
With you there is no lying.
Maria Juana,
With you I raise children of peace.
Maria Juana,
With you I count the sands and stars.
Maria Juana,
With you I am everywhere at once.
Maria Juana,
With you I love beyond the grave.
Maria Juana,
With you I grasp all things.
Maria Juana,
With you I am born again.
Maria Juana,
With you I weave this ancient song.
Maria Juana,
With you I am entwined.
My daughter sees a hawk feather on the road.
Just as I pick it up the wind picks up the face of the leaves.
Just as I raise it to the air the trees begin sharing ancestral words.
Just as I pass it to my daughter she’s falling from the upper world.
Just as she takes it from my hand I am falling.
Just as she offers it back to her father she is falling.
Such things are found on the road joining young and old.
Such things happen on the spirit road.
Salvatore Ala 