Rosanna Staffa

Where I’m From #29By Rosanna StaffaInspired by George Ella LyonI am from a blue Atala bikeFrom Borotalco Roberts and Coty powder #21the whiff of candy they left in the bathroomI’m from watching a snowfall from window to windowOld newspapers piled on a chair and a piano.I am from yellow tramways and small squares with dripping fountainsSidewalks smelling pungent,after a Spring rainfall, skunk.-likeI am from Sunday crossword puzzles, and butterfliesat the window,No hugs.Lightning bugs in a jar. A stray cat that was secretly mine.From Magda Sangineto and Ugo Staffa.I’m from Magda embroidering my dowry, never too early to start, and Ugo the marvelous dancerwho dragged along a trunk of novels throughout the war.Tolstoy, Maupassant, Dumas.Eat slowly and sit up straight.I’m from playing catch with my brothers in front of an abandoned church.I’m from Neapolitan baronsand Swedish soldiers with blue eyesI am from Zeppole sweets at Carnival I fried standing on a chair.From a father who at the front in Albania said yes to switching places for a furlow, and the boatthat soldier boarded sank in the Adriatic sea.Always rushing early to trains and events, he died very oldand wanting more time.From a mother with a cascade of chestnut curlscupping her chin in her hands with serious eyeswho died too youngfor me to see her when I look in my mirror.I took with me from home to home in a battered box:her thimble and a frayed prayer book, his mess kit and Modiano Neapolitan deck of cards.A nest of old feathers, I hide themhigh on a shelf in every home.Where to find Alyson:Website: https://www.alysonshelton.comSubstack: https://whereimfrom.substack.com/Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/byalysonshelton/