Italian Easter

buried under winters frost,
dreams gone and dreams lost.
I imagined her strong,
black hair, green eyes;
I imagined she would sing
great lullabies;
I imagined she was quick,
a sharp tongued wit;
I imagined her paintings,
her poems and her dance;
I imagined we would live in France.
she was to be
the best of me.
We were going to travel
across the great deserts,
find Gods in the jungles
and eat silly deserts:
there was the cherry chocolate
pear split –
I saw us with swizzled straws;
we sat in dinners across america
listening to their drawls;
I told her that all people are love,
I told her that we just needed to see
there inside everyone,
burried by dis-ease:
“Don’t misunderstand their insults,”
I said on her first day of school,
“They find you better than most
and want to be as cool.”
She had the tiniest little shoes,
sometimes a bowtie or two;
we went together hand in hand,
the sun would never set –
until that day
I put her away
and I swore there were no regrets.