Rome Poem

-A poem by my wonderful study abroad friend, Melissa Croce, who articulated Rome in a way I've been without words for since that summer two years ago.

When I bring you to Rome, it's how I teach you about me.
Like the city, I let you see me in parts and pieces.
Like a ruin, you uncover me.

You discover:
Cobblestones, jagged like my nails, on which my off-kilter gait balances.
Wide bridges where I split eggs and watched their yokes sizzle into the cracks.
Dusty, narrow alleyways where I learned how to be alone.
A sun-lit kitchen where I discovered the joy of cooking with others.
The names of my future daughters, Cecilia and Lucia, blindness and light, two sides of the same coin.
The grave of an English poet, where I learned how to stop fearing death.
The cool basement of a white church where I found faith.

When I bring you to Rome, it's how I trust you with me.
Like a lover, Rome ruins me for others.
Like a savior, you resurrect me.

Together:
I feed you honey gelato, forgetting my own, dark chocolate rum sliding down my fingers.
You buy me a single sunflower tucked into an empty olive oil bottle.
We make a spolia wall out of pottery pieces, pistachio shells, fingerprints on Prosperina's hips, ruins.
I hold your hand when you trip over cobblestones.
You sing to me in the grotto of a villa as water echoes around us.
We find new bridges to cross.

When I bring you to Rome, it's how I tell you I love you.