A Spoonful of Europe
By Natalie Korman
After my parents’ marriage had fallen
into a tidy, forlorn heap at our feet,
my mother brought me to Italy.
It was an interesting remedy.
For pain, I took a heady dose of Riviera
that warmed my face and gave me swoony dreams
of tan young men in golden little towns.
For loss of appetite, I was tempted
by pesto gleaming emerald
in the purple Portofino night.
For sadness, I stood by the water
and listened to the Arno whisper
something old and comforting.
Back then I did not understand
what it meant to be healed by Italy.
Back then I did not know that
the ochre breeze in a Tuscan vineyard,
the quiet cool of a stoic church,
the clipping rhythm of a foreign tongue,
that fervent elegance of Europe
which enveloped a heartsick little girl,
was no mere distraction, but a gentle
nudge to realize that the world
could indeed be beautiful again.
——
Natalie Korman lives and writes in Rockland County, a suburb of New York City.
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