Bluebells of Calabria

Bloom like dresses, the colors 
yes, the colors, of lore and light 
like the sky, immortal blue. 

The streets of Calabria have 
sheep, and like the earth caresses, 
so do I. 

The colors diffuse in the atmosphere, 
asphalt. The flowers of your tree, the god tree, are  
the universal language: 
verrà la parole di verità 
               the words of truth will come, 
wrote Maria Palmucci. 

Yet I do not know if she is the Palmucci who 
died at one hundred and nine, or nine. 

She lived her life by a schedule, 
practice lessons filling up her quaderno: 
Orario settimanale delle lezioni. 

Your face unreadable 
lapses, or forgery. 
Modern Rome is torn. 
David is strong—the powerful song of his voice 
like the eternal flower: campanella. 

Italy was the defense of the insurrection 
l’universale linguaggio dello