Today is the Liberation Day in Italy, and in my poem two ladies of the marshes are fighting for my body and soul.
I have a nice memory from last year’s Liberation Day. We drove to the lagoon again after being locked into our municipality for ages, but the supermarket was closed and we went on a nice walk instead. Plus the poem about it had me featured the next day. Find it in my NaPoWriMo memories below.
Prompt 25: “An aisling recounts a dream or vision featuring a woman who represents the land or country on/in which the poet lives, and who speaks to the poet about it. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that recounts a dream or vision, and in which a woman appears who represents or reflects the area in which you live.“
I made my poem into a little less mysterious dialogue between two such women who represent my two countries, Tuscany and Slovenia.
Two ladies of the marshes “She loves me more, she loves me more!” whines the Lady of the Thousand Poppies, mangling one of the red flowers that die immediately after plucking. “Why does she want to leave? Everybody loves our poppies! And our eucalyptus! Even mosquitoes!” Meanwhile 777 kilometres up and right, the Lady of the Thousand Votes is playing with her election ballots. The Pigeon has won, even though he is currently in quarantine. Twittler will leave the office. The marshes will flood again. She feels giddy and calls out to the south: “Hey, Red, take it easy, it’s not just about the flora and the doors and the stylishness, it’s also about the people! Besides, you’re getting just too hot. She will be back when you chill.” “As if you’re not heating up, Green Peace of Europe, as you call yourself, on the sunny side of the Alps. Ha! As if you were not built on marshes. We could have a mosquito war. You are flooding even without a sea!” “Don’t you get too flustered, Red. She says birds are fewer and processionary caterpillars too. Better take care of your poppies. This year there are not as many.” “It’s late, everything is late, Green. I bet your greens are just starting to green. But well done for your vote. Not fully green, not quite red, but neither so very black any more.” “That was a sigh of relief, Red. Now you can send her over.” “Sure, Green, coming up. Over my dead rainbow.”
In photos, some petals to pluck for Patrick’s Pic and a Word challenge. His poem is quietly remarkable. My photos were all taken yesterday to compare with those from last year which I posted yesterday. Yes, this year poppies are not nearly as many.
In response to Patrick Jennings’ Pic and a Word Challenge #310: Petals
The last day in my NaPoWriMo history
2018: Do not
do not groom a child into thinking the world is something else do not make them believe this is what they want because if you do it will not end well for you even if you are far and I don’t know you you’ll see
2019: Is this neat or what?
Heightened senses: a summer spying game is on. I turn into a panting, drooling, sniffing dog. It goes up. My mind tries to align reality with expectations, my body follows. We succeed. The reward is a drink for each and a sunset for all. (Read on.)
2020: Twenty minutes
How much we need culture. Do you know that by line #19 the truth comes along? I will read lines #19 in all your poems and know more about you than you do. So much for the weather within. There is also magnesium, on the outside as well as within. Outside is almost summer and yet today is the first day that I ditch my winter shoes. Do you know that my every step hurts? (I just remembered to ask more questions.) Make a list, as long as you still can. What do you like about walking without pain? 1. I can walk for miles without even realising it. 2. I can see beauty. 3. I can meet people. 4. Maybe I can even run! Very good! 5. Walking is exercise without really planning to. (Dog mumbles something about three- and four-wording my sentences.) Yes, dog. I know. The time is up. We must go. (Read all.)
2021: Liberation Day
Today is officially a holiday in Italy, Liberation Day. Partisans won over fascists. But tomorrow unofficial liberation begins. After months, Italy is turning yellow. It is nothing worse than to be officially and unofficially liberated and still not go anywhere. It will be like animals, long locked up, who are set free but then just stand there. They forgot what a door is for.
This day in my blogging history