I met you a month after I was born,
During my first trip to Italy
We met again and again, after long months apart,
Summer breaks, Christmas holidays
You saw me growing up in stages
A new little being every time we met
You always looked the same to me
Your hair up in a neat bun
Salt and pepper with a solid white streak
Calm, content, wise and strong
I loved how you make me feel
Like the dry Italian heat,
You wrapped yourself around me
I have not seen you in a few years,
I now have my own streak of grey hair
I long for the staircase leading to your apartment
The aromas of tomato sauces lingering in the air
How I cried uncontrollably last time I left you
Knowing that next time, you might not be there
You are now 93
Is it too much of me to ask, that you hold on?
A little while longer
Until I can walk up the staircase
Leading up to your
Apartment
Once
m
o
r
e
From Portfolio of Narrative Inquiry, CCFI 508, 2014