Thank you for taking time to read the material posted here. I would be pleased if you could comment, and I promise to comment back. Sincerely, Nancy


Sunday, April 18, 2010


(A snippet of a memoir
in poetry format. My
father's father - 1897
Aquafacaro - Sicily.)

The familiar path out
of the village of
Aquafacaro - to reach
wheat fields - began at
the square - at the corner -
where men and boys gathered
to greet the rising sun -
peasants - their life
snuggled along a mountain. . .

Francisco crept up along the side
of his home, on a dusty path.

I would guess - Francisco
rode on his donkey's back,
and each day he began his
climb up a hill - he must
had stopped to gaze to his
right - to see a sun peek
out from the sea, as
another day changed the color
of his face, his life, from
dark purple to aqua marine.

I can see him, a peasant
covered in white cloth, a
hat on his head to ward off
the sun - staring from the
edge of the mountain at lights
fluttering, sparkling like
bubbles in colored water,
above the sea - different
shades of pink... soft,
warmer - as a ball of fire
drinks purple water...
a hue - a brilliant shade
of aqua, tourquoise - and,
pink wants to survive.

Francisco - must have stood -
still – for a few minutes. . .

As his eyes moved left to
right - watching shades of
light - and - life arrive -
his village only few from
where his first part of day

If he gazed further into a
sea of aqua, of his heaven,
to see the Aeolian Island,
he may have dreamed one day
his life - quite and beautiful
like small pieces of land
surround by colors of a

Francisco - picked wheat,
filled sacks, and walked his
donkey to a stone hut - placed
wheat beneath shade.

Back and forth - a sun grew
larger in the sky.

At days end, Francisco, on his
donkey's back - repeated his
familiar path - down a dirt,
and dusty road - a familiar
path. . .

I could see him glancing - off
to his left, as a sun fell
into evening waters -orange,
violet - as if water painted
geraniums, hibiscus, oranges,
lemons - of this land.

Color soaking gradually into
a sea, tinting a sky - beautiful
shades of purple.

He fed his donkey - walked past
friends selling fish, almonds,
and olives - his smile slight -
home - to his wife, Santa. Now
he rests on his stoop - in front
of his home at the corner of a
square in his village.

Nancy Duci Denofio

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