Giulia Silver // ITALY

It’s hot and it’s humid here 

And the breeze sticks to your damp skin 

Rather than rolling off.

 

It’s loud and it’s chaos here

And the laughter clashes with shouts 

And the voices rise over one another

Rather than patiently waiting for their turn.

 

It’s simple and it’s sensible here

And the stooped old lady pushes her cart 

And pays for the unsalted bread 

And walks all the groceries home

Rather than loading them into a car and driving away.

 

It’s melodic and it’s impatient here

And the vegetables are sliced carelessly

And the thin meat sizzles gloriously

And the water bubbles fervently

And the worn hands beat the pasta

Rather than purchasing it at the store.

 

It’s ordinary and it’s home here

And I taste everything carefully

Even though it is tempting to dig in,

And I listen to everything and my voice chimes loudly Even though it is accented and I don’t understand 

all I hear

 

And I breathe in the sweet, sticky air

And I only hope to one day be as happy as 

I am here

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