Anyway, I thought it would be fun to take photos of her artwork and post them here. At least I'll feel at home on my blog.
This one accompanies a poem written about a trip to Venice I took with my family. It's called "A Native's Dream":
This one is "Through the Keyhole," written at a particularly angsty time in college:
I realize it might be hard to read, which makes me thankful for my shoddy photographic skills.
And finally this one you might be familiar with already:
A Native's Dream
Rain ruined my first impression
of Saint Mark's Square, flooded
enough to force people to balance, elevated
on wooden boards while we sought refuge
in the cathedral, guarded
by bronze horses,
with my father, quite taken
by the mosaic tile floors
slanting toward the altar.
"How long do you suppose,"
he asked, head bowed,
"it took them to piece this place together?"
I forgot to answer
in awe of those flashing cameras.
We struck out again into December
toward jade-colored waves that spilled over
concrete docks on the Grand Canal.
Gondoliers stood in the wet drops like needles
and called to us, offering
special deals "for only today."
One young man in a black cap promised
in exchange for 80,000 lira
to wipe down the vinyl seats on his gondola himself.
My father agreed, making his familiar declaration
that this was "his city" because he came from
a full line of Venetians with trademark blue eyes, dark hair.
Our guide squinted his brown eyes and held out his hand.
We sat rocking in the boat under our huge umbrella,
the young man at the helm like a tired god
informing us that he was also a fireman. Luca
told my father how one could only be a gondolier
if he father was, and his father before him.
As we passed under the Bridge of Sighs,
the trail of my fingers swirled the canal like marble.
