Dedicated to my great-grandfather, Giulio Balestri, who immigrated to America from his home city of Florence, Italy.

***

Empire of the Heart

And Land of the Eternal,

You shake me to the core

With your fire-fused mountains

And crumbling foundations,

Fierce as your passion

For living untamed.

You bleed through my veins,

Within the hot-baked clay

Of my flesh and bones.

My hair curls from your sun,

And will not submit to straightening.

It rebels, like my hands, my tongue,

Like my soul when it sings,

Mediterranean in its melodies.

You make me move

To the rhythms of life;

You make me unafraid

Of the kiss of death.

Yes, you say to me,

Life is but a passage,

And I must make love

As if this day were my last.

La vita e bella.

Your language is art,

Breath enlivening clay,

Enfleshed and inspiring,

Naked and perspiring.

You glory in the human form,

And glimpse God’s image.

For you, the world is an opera

And a Passion Play.

We are all part of a comedy,

Which first must be a tragedy.

Your roads lead to Paradise

Through Dante’s Inferno.

You are the sanctuary of saints,

Clustered in your catacombs

And slain in your arenas,

The feast for lions

And fuel the for torches.

Your air is pungent

With the scent of melting wax

And martyrs’ lilies.

You received these first seeds,

Sprung up like saplings in us,

Your people,

Which we have watered with our tears

And carried to the far ends of the earth.

Yes, you are inescapable.

Your tastes are on my tongue,

Bread and basil,

Marinara and mozzarella,

And your flavor burns my throat,

Like the candles of blessing

At table or altar lit.

Though I was born across the sea,

Still, you write my story,

And the stories I write reveal you,

Hidden in me.

This is my inheritance:

Darkness and light,

Pride and passion,

Sin and salvation…

All from you.

Your children remember,

Exiles and immigrants,

Pilgrims and passers-by.

My face still bears your map,

And I tread the Appian Way.

Now,

Raise me a glass of your wine:

Alla tua salute!