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last update: 13th Feb21

 

 

Fernando                      Nonna Ida

 

My dear,                      Enrosadira

 

Fernando

He printed my mother’s name inside
his copy of Manzoni’s I Promessi Sposi.
 
I sometimes open that book
to witness his silent love.
 
My father’s leather jacket,
well worn from the 70s, became
 
my teenage second skin. I hung
around, this fashion piece on me.
 
My father drove his beige Cinquecento
on long, narrow streets singing
 
his dear folk song Romagna Mia.
That car my own first four wheels.
 
But wherever I go
I am Fernando’s daughter
 
to the people who knew him,
for they look at me, into his green eyes.
 

Chiara Salomoni

first published on The Blue Nib Digital Platform in May 2020


 
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Nonna Ida

Nonna Ida’s bag was in the cattleshed
for forty years, her beloved photos inside.
Paper perfect, colour intact
as if recently printed by a photographer.
 
                Love is a strong thread
 
Photos of my parents’ wedding in the church,
my mother smiling under her veil.
My father standing in his uniform.
My father’s cousin, the embroiderer, laughing.
 
                Love is a strong thread
 
One of my aunts flirting with a local bloke.
My cousin’s confirmation with her parents;
two other cousins shyly playing,
a view of sweet hills behind them.
 
                Love is a strong thread
 
Nonna Ida wore black after nonno’s death,
and put her long hair up. But life went on.
Her big hands held her infant nephew
when his own mother suddenly died.
 
                Love is a strong thread
 
Nonna Ida baked chestnut cakes for everyone,
told tales and folk stories, fought her battle
for her family safety during the war
when her Appennino was occupied.
 
                Love is an endless thread
 
Nonna Ida longed to see me when I was born,
the only grandchild she never met.
Ida, from old High German, ‘woman warrior’,
the woman I would like to be.
 

Chiara Salomoni

first published on The Blue Nib Digital Platform in May 2020


 
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My dear,

Counting the days before your arrival,
I dream of you.
You don’t know me yet
but I promise it will be fun together.
We will be in the kitchen fire-fighting
on the biggest truck ever seen,
will sail the most dangerous waves
on a pirate boat in the bathroom sink.
 
As I look around, Christmas decorations
loop from everywhere and windows stop people
in the streets. I feel Pinocchio
in the Land of Toys. Should I regret
to be a child still, though I am an adult?
I can’t wait to hold you;
so delicate and precious.
You will smile. And I will be yours.
 
Your aunt
 
 
     (After a line from Hartley Coleridge)
 

Chiara Salomoni

first published on WordCity Monthly in January 2021


 
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Enrosadira

as the Ladin people call it;
a look towards the sky
when it appears at sunrise, sunset.
 
The stones of the highest peaks –
Cime di Lavaredo, Pale di San Martino –
turn pink and lilac
 
once King Laurin’s layer of roses.
Solid stones uplift crosses,
religious shrines along the way.
 
With the Dolomites’ air in their lungs
visitors, pilgrims, locals
bow to nature’s miracle.
 

Chiara Salomoni

first published on The Poetry Village in January 2021


 
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