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Leaving Florence
Author: Erin Wellman
Posted: 18-Jun-08

Leaving Florence 

Five a.m. is the same
whether you speak Italian, or not.
Waiting for a taxi,
I wish I could
relive
my last weekend,
the rented boat in Capri.
That dinky boat!
Waves from cruise ships were ramps
we were a skateboard on a freeway
but the taxi driver won’t hear,
not from me. 

At five a.m. my orange luggage
looks more like a pygmy hippo.
And the empty street could be,
for all practical purposes, a runway.
And the spot lights along it reveal nothing
but a row of nestled motorbikes. 
Five a.m. is a ghost town.
It is Pompeii, the sky is ash
and pin-points of white.
I sit in silence after chaos,
a silence absent of color and the fading cathedral,
of syncopated song in the piazza,  
and of expensive women with
leather shoes,
They’re wrapped in hardened rock
and packed away. 

There is nothing sadder
than a botched goodbye,
and I am alone, a survivor after Pompeii
on a curb before sunrise.
Don’t rush! Golden colossus,
tell the driver
I can wait.
.

Erin Wellman studies Mathematics Education and took part in the Purdue in Florence program.


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