This poem is for Michael Klein....my music buddy who asked about The Bronx and my Italian Father and Family....I wrote this for them and actually perform it often at The Nursing Homes that are my clients....Those little angel residents love it! Michael Santini, my first cousin in New Zealand....take a look too! You will relate! it is our Familia! Tu Mi Piache! This is my piece, I AM ITALIAN: I AM ITALIAN by Bella Scarlett They tell me I am American Not really I am Italian Seriously Through hinged jammed wooden Ellis Island doorways We emerged And surfed the amber waves Gazed at the beautiful for spacious skies Were awestruck at purple mountain majesties For a minute We knew Italia was fervently chasing us from behind And hopped off that wooden vessel faster than a child hunting a lightening bug on a humid summer night We decorated our musty, moldy ship bunks with American flags But were quick to tear them down to keep us warm as we slept Across the rolling, tumbling and foreboding seas We believed in the new land and its strange culture For a minute We arrived We are here And we brought Ceaser, Tiziamin, Antoinette, Giuseppe, Godfrey We brought Lucia, Maria, Gino, Amato, Ellio, Lorenzo, Alberto Alfredo, Concetta, Fabio, Amelia and all the rest We are here And not for a minute We are bringing the saplings from our fig trees We are bringing our vine crawling tomato seedlings We are bringing our eggplant bulbs We are bringing our zucchini, parsley and basil And of course we are bringing grapes that will bleed and spill into glass containers The tides and swells we rode were made of salami And provolone and mortadella and prosciutto Each white peeled papered layer of flesh Jumping into our gaping, spitting, swearing foul proud mouths Cemented our arrival We are going to claim this land With our cuchofala, struffli, calamari , bacchala and scungilli Our Bolognese, FraDiavolo Ravioli, Gnocchi and Tortellini Our strombolis, and calzones too We are going to pull snails from their calcium homes and swallow them whole And soak peaches in wine We will not forget our crucifixes, rosary beads and candles Vatican blessed bottles of holy water Gold bowls of cardboard communion wafers and white confirmation dresses We are going to build enclaves, neighborhoods Where dark drifting young whimsical boys with olive flesh and tar dripped eyelashes Hug and swing sticks, swiftly competing to kiss tossed balls Aprons will reek of squeezed garlic and simmering olive oil Pastel plastic lawn chairs will mount mason ornate thrones And clasped, chapped, washed, weathered hands Will collectively cheer The momentum of our pride, resilience and joy That the census stamped yes on our yellow papers And intruders no more We are home
Posted on: Fri, 21 Jun 2013 22:45:22 +0000
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