Naming the Wind
There is something heroic about a people
who will give a proper name
to a force as ephemeral as the Wind.
I would know such intimacy of place.
I want to know them; those winds
and the people who named them.
The Scirocco wind bursts forth
From the Sahara and Arabian deserts
Lifting particles of colored sand to
make the Blood Rains fall on Italy.
The Tramontana thunders across the Alps
like Hannibal and his elephants
On their way to the Trebia,
Destined to vanquish Romans.
Where they know the Bora,
heavy ropes line the streets
for the people to hold on.
Bora winds of Trieste have the power
to knock you down.
But how should we name
the wind that comes
without warning, with nothing to grasp,
The one after you've already fallen, that blows out the flame
in the heart?
And what of the one that rises
as if out of Charybdis’ maelstrom, to encircle you,
To seek the dying embers and
I would know that wind.
Tell me its name.
|Triestini battle the Bora|