CLEMENTE
The letter from the Social Security office confirmed
that my grandfather came from outside Siena, walled
city of the lopsided campo, piazza of the palio.
He must have seen it as a boy, perhaps was costumed
like an ancient knight, quick and crafty, running
up and down those narrow streets.
The family mythology is that he, shoeless, walked west
to the sea to board a boat for America—shoeless from Siena
to, perhaps, Livorno, among dry dirt roads
Seeking shelter in the tiny villages that still cling, inexplicably,
to the sides of mountains as if they were carved into rock;
he walked shoeless, learning the mason’s craft,
Apprenticing his life for the promise of the new world
never going back, yet never really leaving, either.
In his tiny kitchen in his tiny house a plate of wrinkled
Olives in sweet green-golden oil always adorned
the Formica-topped table near the stale crusty bread,
transformed into manna with each dip. Outside, an Eden
of pole beans and tomatoes, tall sunflowers and pungent
basil, squash and purple melanzane blossomed
Under this foreign sun. He taught me to dance a little
On the three-legged stool I drag with me from house to house.
He taught me to be in, but not of, a place. He taught me how
to endure loss, and still be whole. Our footprints are
Joined now, and we have breathed the same air again. Siena
and the new world, the yellow sun and the dark jeweled grapes
of remembrance.
Bio:
Linda Dini Jenkins is the author of Up at the Villa: Travels with my Husband, Journey of aReturning Christian: Writing into God, and Becoming Italian: Chapter and Verse from an Italian American girl. Her poetry has been published in Voices in Italian Americana, Ovunque Siamo, and Poeti italo-americani e italo-canadesi. She lives in Peterborough, New Hampshire and Sulmona (Abruzzo), Italy.
OVUNQUE SIAMO 