In My Sicilian Cart
                              (Acquaviva Platani, Caltanissetta)

I have saved my favorite Sicilian memories
Collected over time in my Sicilian cart
Tethered loosely to a wooden post in my mind.
I visit there often. Leaving my weary workday,
I count the cobble stones to where the donkey stands
Uncharacteristically patient and quite still
Outside Grandpa’s white stone house on Via Crispi.
When I arrive, I can hear the donkey braying.

In the seat of the cart, tied in neat packages,
My long-gone Sicilian days and nights await me.
“Bring us to the light,” they beg. “Live us one more time!”
And I unfurl each gold leaf upon which lost time
Is stamped. These mental fingers trace the high relief,
And, in the touching, resurrect those past events,
Those village people who again walk to market,
Even the timber of their laughter, their greetings.

I have collected them all here to keep them safe.
Why deepen the sorrow of physical death
By conceding they have vanished forever?
Here in my colorful Sicilian cart they live
In my memory, far from the cemetery
Where sad mourners still visit with flowers and prayers.
Here today I bring to life Ziu Turiddu,
cane in hand, limping down Via Emanuele.

I will feed the good donkey a cube of sugar
When I visit Zia Serafina tomorrow.
Then at the home of Peppi Gaddu drink caffe
Or an aperitif, review the days that made us glad.
If time allows, I will walk the shallow waters
Of the Platani River where once Greek ships sailed
Or I’ll trek uphill to my nonno’s summer place.
On the way I’ll wave to the sons of Don Carlu.