I don't remember the way your face looked
when we met
because I've grown old with you.
I don't remember how we conversed
when we met
because you spoke Italian and I spoke English.
I don't remember how we loved each other
when we met
because I love you differently now
after children and fights in the kitchen before dinner
and leaving you and coming back
and loving you all over again.
I don't remember what I did to push you away
and what you did
to push me away.
I remember you walking me home
the night we met
beside the shadow of the Colosseum
and across the Tiber
and I remember azaleas
blooming electric on the Spanish Steps
where we played at love by Bernini's marble boat
and riding free on our Lambretta
through midnights and empty streets
with my arms wrapped tight around your waist
and feeling the heat of your young back
against my heart
because Rome belonged to us
and what I don't remember doesn't matter any more.
You are here sleeping beside me and my arms
are still around you, holding on.
- Nadya Giusi (2004)
