How was I to know
I’d be coming home
when first I tasted the salt sea air
of your sun-stained shores?
Isola Bella, something rattled my DNA,
dislodging its memory
awakening its forgotten longing.
Isola Madre, something birthed voice
erasing a long silence;
that which had been lost
suddenly reclaimed.
In Erice, the homeward-seeking doves
soar back to Africa each spring
released by those who remember
how true blood sings for its Mother.
In Ragusa Ibla, St. George could not slay
the Amazon hunters
or their ebony strength.
The dragon of memory
loomed fiercer than his shining sword.
In Tindari, the Dark One reigns still
Her benevolent eyes
welcome pilgrims of every hue
seeking solace, affirmation
in Her declaration: “I am black and beautiful.”
In Trapani, Siracusa, Custonaci, Enna, Palermo —
over hillsides littered with ruins,
through valleys, bleeding
with stark red poppies
across mountains erupting
beside turquoise seas swelling
we remember our First Womb
marked as we are
by Her ancient imprint.
Sicily’s salty air whispers
a mournful dirge,
a litany inviolable
the eternal archive of names —
women and men, young and old,
native-born and foreigner
living and dead — who see everything,
hear always
speak unfailingly
releasing their long
soulful sighs
into the waiting
watchful wind.
[Previously published in: “Sicily,” She Is Everywhere! Volume 3: An anthology of writings in womanist/feminist spirituality, iUniverse March 2012, Mary Saracino and Mary Beth Moser, co-editors. Originally published at newversenews.com on April 30, 2006]
Beautifully written… and sparked that longing in me to visit the land of my ancestors. One day I will set foot there.
I followed every word breathlessly. Such a wonderful poem full of wonder and discovery. Thank you so much for taking me there with you.
I remember when She first came to me I recognized something primal – all inclusive – all may enter those comforting arms…thank you.