The Rosary

~I come from a Strong Italian/German American Family, and I grew up knowing that you respected Nonna, you stood by family, and when things got bad, you got on your knees and prayed~

I can remember

Her wrinkled hands

Grasping that

Crystal Rosary,

Fingering the beads

Touching the cross

Reflecting on the Crucifix

As she knelt beside her

Bed for the evening prayers.

Sometimes I would

Watch from a crack in her door

(I think she did that on purpose)

As she recited her prayers

But never out of her lips

Did the words sound mechanical

She spoke the language of love

And tears.

Nonna my sweet Nonna

Who taught me to pray

Who sat me on her knee

As a little girl

And would sing

‘Amazing Grace

Or How Great Thou Art”

The same sweet Nonna

Who warmed us with

Warm Bowls of Pasta Fezel

A simple dish that we all devoured

During the cold months

The same Nonna who we

Sitting around the fire place

Would beg

“Tell us a story of your childhood

And we would listen intently.

I watch in sadness today

As so many of this generation

Do not respect the things

There grandparents say

And I remember Nonna’s sweet embrace

The nightime prayers

The memory verses

Even the Italian Quizzes on Friday.

“Honey please carry your past with you

And look to your Future

I believe in you

And God loves you

And always remember

“Dio Vida Eh Provideh”

“God see’s and provides.

And I would smile and say

“Yes Nonna he does.”

I have her Rosary’s now

The Crystal one

On my desk

A quiet reminder

Of Nonna and her prayers

And the way she believed in me.

As I study them I can almost smell

Rose Water Perfume

And Pasta Sauce Simmering

With Garlic

And the image of Nonna

In that bedroom with the

Rose Wall Paper

And Four Poster Bed

With the Vanity and Mirror

Where as little girls

Aretha and I would play dress up

With clip on earrings

And Pearls!

Copyright Michelle R Kidwell


11:39 P.M PST

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