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November 10, 2014

L’amore è come… {Poem}

Italy is for lovers.

They say,

love is like falling,

l’amore è come cade,

we dive in,
sinking into the bliss,
lost for what seems eternity,

until one day,

we come up for air,
surfacing with icy waters
rippling around our shoulders,

so we will swim
to the edge,
pull our soaked bodies onto the rocks,
and if we’re lucky,
be warmed by the sun.

But we know it’s never like that.

We’ll surface alone in the darkness of night,

leaving the water that’s cooler than the air
to find our way up the cliff,
as our fingers discover
cracks in the rocks,
places that won’t crumble, but
hold up our weight,
as we climb,
little-by-little,
out of love,
trying to hide our fear
that the crackling noise is only a mouse
not the breath of a mountain lion
perched at the edge of this cliff
where sea gulls sleep,
tucking their beaks into wings,

suddenly they take flight

as we place
one hand after another,
scaling the rocky ledge,

seeing a glimmer of sunrise

as we reach the crest,
embracing the cold sunshine of morning,
a new day in which to fall again,
and on this next dive in
to the bliss
let’s wear wings,
so we can glide back up
whenever or wherever we hit air pockets
in the turbulence
of love.

 

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Author: Jes Wright

Editor: Catherine Monkman

Image: Pixoto

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