MEMORIES OF LOVE

Memories of Love

Dream with me -
become part of my world,
hold my hand, and share with me
collected memories of love.

Nature speaks in silent words
trees cling together
limbs covered in ice
magical, alive
a paramount to nature

each year I search a familiar brook,
a mountain top -
a current or a stream,
unending as our love -
we embrace - trees cling
together with frozen snow our
limbs bare.

Sunshine peeks through
branches, sparkling water
as it gives way to nature, rocks -
mounds of earth in the way

a stream flows, unending
in jagged lines, disturbing earth
creating a waterway deeper, deeper
in the woods.

Now, I stroll along paths where we
shared our love – so deep inside
a forest - greeting me – a familiar
brook where we became part of
nature sharing earth – skin glistens

Our love – unending - distance will
pull us apart, but not destroy love.
We share love among shadows
where snow has remained,
we melt together, becoming one.

Safe among the trees,
limbs, frozen
no feeling on bare skin -
sky of blue - high among towering
trees - below a stream
trickles from snow melting
to make way for ice –
for snow – for love.

Part Two

I made private plans with nature
to share my world with you,
so far away – love – changes
as seasons cause
water once flowing over stones
to forge as rapids, down –
away from our mountain

I share my thoughts
among the trees,
of you, and I - alone,
embracing in winter snow -
a stream never ends,
growing stronger - as love,
we connect arms -
tree limbs - connect life
in our forest.

So - let me share with you,
walk with me among the forest -
our path will meet once more,
its end, when I no longer dream
in winter white - when I melt in
springtime -

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

ONE CAPSULE in the FOREST

One Capsule in the Forest


a single tree
breathes in the forest

a benign tumor.

bacteria wiped out
the mountain.
a fungus spread from
limb to limb

sparing one single tree

a capsule for a new
beginning,
the cordial for a forest.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

CEMETARY PARKING LOT from book What Brought You Here?

Cemetery Parking Lot

the space near the front
door - near push
carts - near blue
light specials - near a
lady from the salvation
army, ringing a bell -
swinging a red bucket,
half smiling, tilting
her hat - half smiling -
near double doors -
at the front entrance to
K-Mart...

I want to wait inside
our car - where a
cemetery surrounds
the hospital on the hill,
behind garbage bins -
near employee parking
where you can smoke.
I want to wait inside
the car while you
purchase paper towels,
toilet paper, garbage
bags, soap, and fabric
softener.

I wait in the car play
with the crank out window,
slip my fingers over
the steering wheel -
feel where a horn plays
music, feel a knob
which turns on wind shield
wipers - a knob -
to twist for headlights -

I wait in the car - remove
my shoes, toes touch a
brown - thicker - carpet
you replaced after you
spilled paint from a
hardware store.

I wait inside the car -
blow on windows draw
stick figures on glass -
blow on windows draw
houses, balloons and
cats.

I wait inside the car,
cover my legs with your
old navy blanket, rest
my head on a padded
arm rest - close my
eyes....

And, I wait inside the
car - falling asleep -
listening to a bell held
by a half smiling lady
near double doors -
opposite the cemetery
where you were laid
to rest.

Nancy Duci Denofio
from book "What Brought You Here?"
published by Dystenium 2010

LOVE DISSOLVES

LOVE DISSOLVES

those words we heard together
from a stranger – stayed near
for such a short time -
I thought it would have changed
you – I believed power from
beyond would have opened up
a force you never felt –

but – I was wrong

why I worry more then you?
why I beg for your lips?
why I ask for a little time?

my reasons are now fading
I was wrong - to wonder

those words we heard together
meant so much for so little
time – if I had a string to
tie you – to have you listen
to them one more time –

it would not have made you
different – your words were
always right -

but, I was always wrong

you walk through time as a
stranger
you ignore me like a pestering
insect
you shake your head and agree

but, then you say you don’t
recall why?

my reasons are now fading
as those words from a stranger
I did believe you listened

but, I was wrong

turn away – for I am not looking
turn away – for I am not hearing
turn away – because I can see
a statue passing by –

you were once the best wine on
my lips
you were the best cluster of grapes
to make – wine
your were the best taste when we
kissed

I see how love dissolves

I am the last grape on your vine

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

CHILDREN of the DARK

CHILDREN of the DARK

Stone houses against
a mountain side, between
bushes of red gardenias
and hydrangeas near
lime and lemon trees,
near olive branches –
and wheat fields.

A street, narrow;
balconies and stoops
where town folk gather
in clusters, similar to
all clusters - along
the edge of the mountain.

Villagers gather to share
secrets - or to be proud;
a cross now pinned outside
off of a cotton slip -
signifying her husband or
son notified her - soon
they shall return for
those he left behind.
Leaving America - a place
he only knew.

A gust of wind - a thin layer
of ash from Mount Etna
finds its way between the
mountain and lay its ash
over the clothes attached
to olive trees.

Women pray for spring to
bring heavy rains, and keep
rain away in June – for it
would kill buds blooming
on the trees.

Women pray for husbands
to come home, to be happy
in the mountain, filling sacks
with wheat – for the wheat
man – the rich man in town.

This winter a few flakes of
snow crossed the mountain
top – and kissed a palm.

A simple stoop of stone –
a hen struts by to
enter a home - with an open
door, where birds of all
colors – as shrubs or trees
flock to hear the music
on the streets.

Homes stand side by
side, deeper – instead of
wide. A simple stoop where
women compare the price
of an artichoke - when few
feet walked –
pick another fresh – but its
weight to much to bare.

Pictures of saints are lined
on walls, near a picture of
the Brooklyn Bridge.
One room – one table, and
chairs. Upstairs, what
women call a marriage
bed.

At the end of a day when
purple covers the sea and
a mountain sleeps – when
donkeys are tied in stalls
and children dream – some
stay awake counting stars.

Children hear prayers from
a neighbors home, and cries –
when a letter arrives – knowing
someone else will never cross
the ocean – will never make it
home – back where houses
clustered close, where elders
talk.
And in the darkness
children listen.

Nancy Duci Denofio

TOUCHING SILK

Touching Silk

Between pink painted lips
you whispered
slanted - flirting eyes
stared - bending your knees
slightly twisting your body –
a vanilla Tootsie Roll machine.

Miniature stars glittered
in moonlight - you raised
your long white
gloved arm to wave –
moonlight shined
in baby blue eyes

At the auto shop
I watched men
slap your ass as they
prepared to brace ice and snow
to “filler up.”
In the basement a picture
hangs collecting dust -
Marilynn bent over touching silk
her head flung back slightly
tilted to the right
she was laughing.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

YOU ASKED ME TO DANCE published What Brought You Here pg. 5-7

Following an accident - as a child - and returning to the spot and as an adult remembering what occured, and with your eyes closed, you see yourself there, once more.


--------------------------------

YOU ASKED ME TO DANCE

A white butterfly . . .
You have come home to dance
on my shoulder, high above daisies
to spin in circles

casting our shadows on a pond
a rendezvous of seasons, and
a landscape covered with snow. . .
You fooled me.

Your sister’s, sister?
No one noticed when she fell
through ice.
A white picket fence keeps
me away.

I feel your wings.
You flutter toward the barn
pass the statue of the
BlessedVirgin Mary.

We dash to skip over holes
in the floor of the barn.
You grab my hand
we skip over light; reflections on

a wide plank wooden floor.
We pass a broken lantern
red glass shimmers,
and Grandmother’s wedding dress
hung near our homemade stage.

You grab my hand, and together
we run to the hillside
we roll into a ball and tumble
“head over heals”, Grandmother said,
on over grown grass. . .
We roll over clover and our toes tangle
in weeds,
we roll near apples left beneath the apple
tree . . .

In winter,
I hear you laugh -
your tear’s roll down your face
you’re laughing so hard
you bend to catch your breath. . .

Your chin captures yellow of a butter cup,
and again - the wings of a white butterfly
leads me to the white picket fence. . .
The slope disappears.
The apple tree, a twig.
And your face
appears in murky water.

Your laughter still surrounds me. . .
A stone is tossed, and circles swirl over,
and over.
My eye’s close as if captured by the
swirling water,
and you were gone.

Forgive me.

A yellow eye - inside a white daisy
asked - me to dance. . .
we are leaping across summer grass
near tall weeds and wild flowers.
Our dance ends – so,
I snap your stem to take you home.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

Second Hand Mama

baked a home made
chocolate cake,
like Mama -tasted your potato
salad, it was as if
Mama came home - heard
you have one crooked arm,
held my breath when
you extended your arm,
Mama, she use to
show people her arm
proud she
broke it playing touch
football with
her ten brothers -
you speak your
mind as Mama did -
always right. . .
I heard you
love to gamble,
playing cards and dice -
traveling to exotic
places - Mama, did too -
Mama, handed me my
first quarter
for a slot machine -
you never did. . .guess
you’re my - second hand Mama.