Rosalina My Italian Mother Poem by Edmund V. Strolis

Rosalina My Italian Mother

Rating: 5.0


Oh mother, how did we get here?
Weren't we just in the garden laughing?
Our tiny feet shocked by your playful garden hose.
You laughed, we laughed and tulips smiled.

Hand on hip, our Italian mother happy.
Barefoot too, you soaked the grateful garden.
A vibrant wild paradise, an Alpine celebration.
The sky was so blue then, how did we get here?

How you missed your Italian world.
A Venetian maiden far from the village square.
I would only fail in re-telling that bittersweet tale.
Best to grow a garden of my own.

I take a small comfort in believing that.
We had a secret language that made you less alone.
We would whisper, point and you would laugh to tears.
Transported for a moment to an Italian cafe.

Rosalina My Italian Mother
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: memory,mother and child
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
A memorial and sad memory of viewing her in the hospital bed, eyes closed never to reopen, so far from our garden~~~~ I added a photo of the garden I have created in memory. The trellis transferred from her garden.
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Pamela Sinicrope 07 May 2016

I had to come back and read this again in honor of mother's day. Love this poem Edmund.

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Pamela Sinicrope 08 October 2015

This is a beautiful poem Edmund! I will comment more later. I can imagine the scene in my mind... Your beautiful Italian mother with her children in the garden on a warm summer day... Hose and all... You've conveyed so much with your words...

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