POEMS ABOUT OTHER COUNTRIES

VENEZIA

A secret slumbers
in the heart of the city
wearing a golden ring.
Bear it on the coffin-black gondola
through narrow canals at night;
awaken it with howling cats
and feed it with dead pigeons.
When it awakens
It will ride the bronze horses
And salt water will leap over the stone
To scour away the ages
And then the secret will watch from the Bridge of Sighs,
blood and feathers dripping from lips
barely visible beneath its pale bauta,
And its laughter will be the rising sea.

SCOTLAND

Grass darkens and turns to shadow
Sky burns down to darkened ash.
Beneath the hill the night lengthens
and yellow-eyed goats gather to hear
the wind whisper summer secrets
Too dark to survive in sun.

PILGRIMAGE TO ST. PETER’S, ROME
DURING JUBILEE YEAR 2000

I stood in the vast marble nave
Waiting and shaking
As incense burned
Sweet and choking.
All around me people pressed
And milled and gaped
At the few, like me, who stood in line
Before the mute black box.

One leaves and another steps up.
Run away, the voice inside urged --
Why are you doing this?
You’re just making an ass of yourself
Leave before anyone else finds out!
But I shoved a hand in my skirt pocket
And felt grandfather’s rosary
With cold, nervous hands.
Another stands and leaves
And I edged even closer.
The statues loomed around me
Staring down with blank eyes
Mute accusers, judges, scoffers.
And then I was at the head of the line.

Tears pressed against my eyelids
And tightness strangled --
Run away! The voice shrieked,
Why are you doing this?
And I had no good answer.

When it was my turn to step up
And kneel in the tiny chamber,
Black and narrow
Like an upright coffin,
Old, polished wood
Inches from my face,
A grate and a curtain
Obscuring me from sight --
I felt the walls press in
And couldn’t decide
If they were threatening
Or comforting.

“In the name of the Father
And the Son,
And the Holy Ghost.”
I hurriedly crossed myself
To catch up
And that time I couldn’t prevent
The tears streaking down my face
Even though I didn’t know
What I was weeping for
As I confessed
My need.

And the tears didn’t stop
Even when I pressed through the masses again
As they gazed at me with a moment’s curiosity
Then turned back to their tour guide
Even when I knelt on the prie dieu
And said my penance
On aching knees.
And then knelt in the Chapel of Mary
Because I was still shaking too hard
And weeping too bitterly
To walk in public yet
And only there
In a cloud of incense
Surrounded by other women who knelt
With heads bowed
And hands clasped
Could I be certain
I wouldn’t be asked questions
That I wasn’t ready to answer.