Rites of Passage
First appeared in Poet Lore Winter/Spring, 2023
The Giardino degli Aranci
is full of lounging Romans
congregating at dusk
to watch the sun set
on St Peter’s.
I hear more than one tour guide
tell his group to keep this place
a secret, so it’s not overrun,
and locals can enjoy
the two-thousand-year-old
tradition of pleasure gardens.
The elementary school playground–
a hundred feet away, passed
the fifth-century church–
has the same view.
I imagine these children
will sip wine mixed with lemonade
at a family lunch at least once
when very young, like I did.
I recall just one time,
the metallic taste another mystery
of adults. But I knew, even then,
it belonged to the full
ceremony of breaking bread,
and now I did, too:
deeper-rooted, secured to them
by initiation.
I wonder about the parents
at these school gates–taking in
this astonishing view–
and what they make of the lives
of American kids
the ages of theirs.
If they know about the drills.
If they can translate
shelter in place.
