Amunni

A flaking wall of sun-struck yellow


Peeling paint of a once green door

Ceaseless purple blue beat and pour

Of waves who eat and then retreat

From the restaurant of the shore


A waiter sets your place at the cafe,

the crude cut vegetables of the day

still raw as the day you were born,

Wine, scarlet as blood, half vinegar,

lemon afternoon of a half sliced bay

and chipped light of a common carafe.


As always you’ll hear the hesitation

Of the aged before they speak quietly

their humility of doubt in front of history;

how they weigh each fragile word

knowing centuries separate us, join us.


How many times, in how many tongues,

can chef open this simple door to you?


Notes: Amunni


- the Sicilian dialect for 'Let's Go!'

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