La Strada

We always seemed to go to the sea in sharp weather.

I remember Massimo driving us to Ostia.

Flying down the tree lined road to the deserted beach.

In a sandy town we ate scampi, the only customers

in an enormous room before the gray of the sea.

Today in this other empty town I arrive first.

Open the shutters protecting the front door.

I began to worry when you were late,

bits of road with no shoulders or guard rails.

Here I am, older and more careful at this ocean,

but you still travel with me. Perhaps

when I return inland I will search for the film

I shot all those years ago -- the jerky road -- 16 mm images

the poplars flying by and Massimo grinning,

laughing, telling us things in Italian we did not understand

18 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

I This busy spot, in 1900, was remote, red and dusty with the Builders Brick quarry and factory, in the mining boom, the logging days. Firs, countless, were as big around as their fellers were tall, w