Tell Me More Poetry by Nancy Duci Denofio

CHILDREN of the DARK

Stone houses against
a mountain side, between
bushes of red gardenias
and hydrangeas near
lime and lemon trees,
near olive branches –
and wheat fields.

A street, narrow;
balconies and stoops
where town folk gather
in clusters, similar to
all clusters - along
the edge of the mountain.

Villagers gather to share
secrets - or to be proud;
a cross now pinned outside
off of a cotton slip -
signifying her husband or
son notified her - soon
they shall return for
those he left behind.
Leaving America - a place
he only knew.

A gust of wind - a thin layer
of ash from Mount Etna
finds its way between the
mountain and lay its ash
over the clothes attached
to the olive trees.
Women pray for spring to
bring heavy rains, and keep
rain away in June – for it
would kill buds blooming
on the tree.

Women pray for husbands
to come home, to be happy
in the mountain, filling sacks
with wheat – for the wheat
man – the rich man in town.
This winter a few flakes of
snow crossed the mountain
top – and kissed a palm.

A simple stoop of stone –
where a hen struts by to
enter a home with an open
door, where birds of all
colors – as the trees
flock to hear the music
on the streets.

The homes stand side by
side, deeper – instead of
wide. A simple stoop where
women compare the price
of an artichoke, when few
feet walked – they could
pick another fresh – but its
weight to much to bare.

Pictures of saints are lined
on walls, near a picture of
the Brooklyn Bridge.
One room – one table and
chairs. Upstairs, what
women call a marriage
bed.

At the end of a day when
purple covers the sea, and
a mountain sleeps – when
donkeys are tied in stalls
and children dream – some
stay awake counting stars.

Children hear prayers from
a neighbors home, and cries –
when a letter arrives – knowing
someone else will never cross
the ocean – will never make it
home – back where houses
clustered close, and older
people talk. And in the dark
children hear.

Nancy Duci Denofio
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