Thursday, February 28, 2013

That Italian lady laughs: a poem for my dear friend, Linda

That Italian lady laughs
and laughs until
she cuts a path
into your fast
and fading past
killing time
and smashing masks
She's real and
genuinely glad
when you are.
With her you're
never too far
from a coffee bar
or open jar of
giggles spilled
out in the car
or in the yard.
If you're with her
the day gets blurred
complaining words
are rarely heard
the meanest streak
never stirred.
She's kind
and real
not steely
like a sword,
but wieldy
to the Spirit's word;
unbending tho
to fleshy throes
hard-fast loving
friend or foe
no beholden kindness grows
but genuine and warm
love glows in Linda
mia sorella
my dear friend
La gentile signora
mia consorta
(made that word up
don't interrupt)
My trusted ally
won't just sit by
while I
with fleshly venom fly.
She, all the wiser
calls me higher
calmer, righter,
tells me truth
saves me face
never ruthless
ready grace
sets me down
sets me straight
makes me see
I'd never be
without a doubt
the silly or the
better me
without her.