Vietato (A Town Called Forbidden)

After the hum of the transatlantic jet
the earthbound jerk and rattle of a train
pulling in and out of small town stations
en route Venezia — Udine —
there’s the heat of the sun high
in a May sky, there’s the haze
of humidity or my sleepless eyes
see now as if submerged
underwater, I understand
nothing, not the time of day,
not the names of towns:
Salice, Pordenone, Vietato —
Vietato, not the name of a town at all,
but a warning sign, Forbidden —
as if this flat and sun-lit terrain could take me
back to the prairie, to Saskatchewan,
where a town called Forbidden
might join one called Forget.
I was bound for Beyond History, a conference at the university
in Udine but later I hoped to find a village called Casarsa though I
had no idea how to get there, so when I saw Casarsa delle Delizia as
one of the stops printed on my train ticket, it felt like a gift. The first
of many I was to receive.
A beautiful day, full sun, breezes making it feel almost cool,
although how can it be cool at 28°C? I’m now staying at a hotel
in Casarsa called Al Posta; it’s near the post office. I take tea in the
garden, at a table shaded by a tree. I breathe deeply and the air
smells green and tastes almost sweet. I listen.
Your music,
oleander and mosquito,
muted in May.
I would lose the latter part of that duet.
Ah, but what is it if
it cannot pierce, if
it cannot get under your skin?
I hear him whispering,
“Such music’s emasculated.”