Every morning, the air smelled sweetly of cigarettes
And freshly baked pistachio cornettos
With notes of
Pliny’s volcanic pine cone trees
And Ottorino Respighi’s
Pines of Rome tone poem.
The Romans had figured out how to live
And I quickly learned I had never lived before.
Had never walked on cracked cobblestone.
Had never talked to strangers, talked to animals, talked to children.
Had never prayed despite my hands being
So
Close
To God…
Every sigh was a breath of gratitude there.
Every breath was a silent prayer.
Each smile looked like
Chiara’s and Claudia’s and Alessandro’s.
I had never known a smile
Could hold such contentment.
I guess I had never even smiled.
The music was best nella piazza di Santa Maria.
Where I grew a sense of respect for the
Highly committed busker wearing
Cowboy boots affixed with
Toe tambourines
Asking the crowd of tourists if they’d
Ever Seen The Rain.
And after every performance,
Telling the same story in four words:
“This is my life.”
Mine was Luca and I,
Unknowingly 10 feet away from
La Villa Farnesina.
It was me and la mia chitarra
Strumming some Italian waltz
On our apartment balcony
Watching men pull up on Vespas, tossing
Burnt buds into bushes.
When life was quiet,
I was solemn at the Tiber
Contemplating how the river was no longer just water
When I could see it all in front of me.
It was The Soul
Transfigured and pouring out of each and every nasone.
If you awaken and are looking for me,
I walked towards the music on the boardwalk in Ostia
And through every alley in the Jewish Ghetto of Trastevere
Reading the Stolpersteine:
Gunter Demnig Stumbling Stones.
Martyrs immortalized, etched in golden brass.
I went to listen to the secret whispers of the grass
In the park where Papà lifts i suoi figli to the fountain
And leashless puppies converse with carefree pigeons.
I’ve crawled back to Naples
Where we were 40 meters away from the surface.
There, I could feel it for the first time:
The overwhelming presence of water
As we slithered through the ancient aqueduct
With our bodies pressed along cool mineral.
Like water droplets flowing through a sacred space
That once housed those seeking a haven
Or in heaven, a special place.
And now I am back in Chicago
Wearing a cornicello around my neck
And plastic pepperoncini hanging from my ears
As I write letters to Sofia and Achille
Telling them how much I miss living
And everything that was once in front of me.
Crystina Windham, Class of 2025, participated in the Autumn 2023 Bernard J. DelGiorno Civilization Program in Rome.