Strega Nona

She was a strega:
I saw her making magic
in the kitchen, giving life to a tired dough
and to shy soap bubbles in the verandah.
I was 6 but I still can see her calloused hands
and long hair in a bun.

She didn't have much when she arrived here:
just a suitcase crammed full of memories:
she would never forget the roads to Paola
and the sunsets in Calabria.
I liked when she opened that magical box
and showed me my past with so much pride.
Those pictures are still the fire in my hands.

Somebody told me she married a man
who loved her deeply. He had deep green eyes.
When he died, she wore black forever
and let her hair grow.
She was already an old woman in her 30's.
I remember she hid her wedding photo
in the closet. Whenever you opened it,
you would see her smiling.
Maybe it was there to remind her of whom
she once was.

When I think of her, I feel
I was loved.
I could never be as strong as she was
or have half of her brute tenderness.

When I am gone, I hope she can be
waiting for me with her ever open arms.
Grandma was a strega.
She bewitched me with her language
and light.
When I look back, I saw a young girl
running through the fields of yesterday
and I don't mind telling you all
I am crying as I write this simple poem.

"Io ti voglio bene"
"Anche io amore mio, anche io"

Karla Bardanza
http://karlabardanzapoems.blogspot.com
http://skycladatmidnight.tumblr.com
http://poeticpostcards.blogspot.com

This poem is a tribute to my grandmother

Strega=Witch in Italian
Io ti voglio bene- I love you in Italian
Anche io amore mio, anche io- I love you too my love

Poem #1
*Written for the Raven's "one a day" through November.