Two Poems by
Salvatore Difalco
Horses of Volcanoes
A horse with three legs
served the French troops
during the Great War.
J’aime les chevaux de temps en temps.
Makes perfect sense.
Delicacies survive revolutions.
My roots were not in France alas
though in the fourteenth century
Normans climbed the family tree
after coupling with the Saracens.
Then near Etna
all things click like smoke.
Olives and lemons
for lunch and wine
like blood and blood oranges
salted volcanically.
Welcome home, chevalier.
This was all along the plan.
To let you learn
the way of suffering
among strangers
in a strange tongue.
Saracen Olive Trees
Open the mouth and imagine.
Open my hand, revealing just
the palm and nothing better
to do but ask for something.
What it is that haunts you
this morning or should we
say taunts you this morning?
This is a task for a taller man.
Come fall, will the old aunts
from the provinces descend
upon our villa, demanding
we evince our visceral vibes?
A visit from the local prince,
unplanned and freighted with
the dusty weight of centuries,
would prompt a purer aspic.
But sit with me at the table
of my caprice and let us see
how many olive trees we can
count before we run out of spit.
Salvatore Difalco writes from Toronto, Canada. Salvatore Difalco at ē·rā/tiō.