Visit to My History

IMG_3126

Visit to my home town.

ie, the hood.

ie, Muzza Bizza.

ie, the shit hole I couldn’t wait to leave at eighteen.

Rational now, about the place.

No longer the fear that any length of time spent there

Will mean being sucked into its black hole,

Never leaving the Malley Scrub prison.

At the shops, served by a girl I went to school with.

She had lank hair and a missing tooth.

She didn’t remember me.

Visited childhood friend,

The one who knew all my secrets,

The one who held my hand through

Those terrible teenage years.

We had both wanted to rebel but couldn’t;

Italian children do not rebel.

I waited until I left home – fucking up my life.

She held my hand through that, too.

Now living interstate, Christmas holidays

Gave us the opportunity to meet.

It was odd, knocking on her childhood home door.

I never knocked on that door.

I always just walked in.

Her mum wanted us to sit at the dining table.

No, I said. Too odd.

Let us sit at the kitchen table,

Let us recreate our history.

I left with a box full of tomatoes,

Peaches and olive oil.

So Italian. So typical.

Walking that street, visiting those people;

There is not need for the grocery store.

And so was the visit to my history.

This is for my surrogate family, who have always treated me as their own. Time and distance has not weakened our bond, and I will forever be eternally grateful for their love, understanding and lack of judgement. Thank you for being such a special part of my life.

12 thoughts on “Visit to My History

    1. Yeah, on my Mum’s side. Though am technically Italian because I have an Italian passport. Is the only way I can come and go as I please into your country! Thank you EU!

      Like

        1. I went when I was fifteen, so quite a while ago. That was when Nonna was still alive. I suspect it’d be weird to go back there to an empty house. But I would like to take Mr Thomas one day. Perhaps one year we’ll cut our UK trip in half and then pop over to Italy.

          Like

  1. I really liked this one, Giorge. Especially this:

    I left with a box full of tomatoes,

    Peaches and olive oil.

    So Italian. So typical.

    Walking that street, visiting those people;

    There is not need for the grocery store.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s