This is taken from Deep Travel's "Mid Winter Snowfall in the Piazza Dante" by Charles Wright.
If there is one secret to this life, it is this life.
This life and its hand-me-downs that you laugh at me when I say I love them.
Make me feel close to someone,
like I have a piece of them
on my feet, or in the fabric of my shirt. Isn't that why we search,
why we travel?
From Bologna to home takes
four hours too long, Arezzo finds us confused with laughter,
doubled over with the Perugia train chugging behind us,
who hopped off to check the Partenze,
I'm left behind,
a hand-me-down girl in a brand named world.
A bottle of wine to calm only creates hysteria
inside, with no food to sop it up. If there is one secret
to this life, it is this life. This life and its sop.
Puddles after a rain, Venice floods, not enough bread.
You loop my arm, say We're only learning, killing it.
I shake my head yes, inside- a grenade of Gomorrah ready to explode.
No-I'm happy as second hand sop.
World traveler headed home.
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