Outside my window in Padova
Is a courtyard of terracotta roofs
Self-assured plants spreading out in ceramic pots
Cats rubbing against clay walls
Lines of laundry like prayer flags.
The sun is usually glaring down and it is always
unseasonably mild.
Tidy clusters of cozy lives,
A foreign peace meant for other borders,
Happiness clutched in deserving hands
As carelessly as their bags of oranges.
Pedestrians milling by, couples whispering in archways
Warm breath exhaling promises they will keep.
They look hopeful and...
safe
I want to gaze out and see the prayer flags,
I want to feel hopeful and safe, too.
Standing there like a widow
I think
HOPE
and SAFETY
Sounds different in Italian,
Speranza e sicurezza
are ships that I somehow missed,
and the body means well when the body pushes the transplant out.
About the Creator
Ella Bogdanova
Drop by drop I mourn the sea.
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More stories from Ella Bogdanova and writers in Poets and other communities.
Let's Don't Do This
"I just can't do this anymore..." "Do what?" What can't you do? Put gas in your own car? I swear to God you make me take care of everything, don't you? You know I'm on my way to work right now but that never stops you from bothering me, does it?"
By Shirley Belk6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (4)
I’m really struck by how you juxtapose the calm, everyday beauty of Padova with the speaker’s internal struggle. The sense of disconnection wanting to feel hopeful and safe but not quite able to grasp it resonates deeply. Speranza e sicurezza in Italian sounds so much more distant and foreign in this context. Such a powerful reflection on the search for peace.
Nice
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