Tell me one more time
of that one time, when your life hanged on a train.
Through eastern sounds,
bonded in barbed wire fancy
terror spoke in Berlin, tongue and ways and nose of the hounds.
Tell me about when
little girl, you were a man, not a game
hidden in the straw
amidst thoughts, thoughts of an uniform
too wide for you, that uniform
and boots, bad boots
scouring the rails
on a tiptoe
from Verona to Piave, on the railroad
nights, and nights
fear as a torment.
Tell how you hid
between tall, upset grass,
to feel then moved
looking at distant hills, to Vittorio.
Filing the time
rediscovering your consumed square
the laundresses well
an enchantment, those paternal roads
the door to your house, rusty
your aunt, she doesn’t see your starry eyes
your sunken cheeks
your cardboard legs.
three generations thenin wrought iron, a destiny.
Cappella Maggiore, January, 2009 (Giuseppe Lazzaro) (I translated it to English)