#155
Venice
Venice is not for every body. Or, every mind. It takes a certain kind of person to make it their home. Resilient is not the right word. Patient, is. With no straight path to any other point, the zig-zag of narrow alleys begin, after time, to mimic the zig-zag of arteries in the mind that remembers them so well. A left here, a right there, a path that looks like a dead end, revealing a hidden turn, a way to avoid the crowds, a way to escape the heat, a way to go deeper into the belly of the S.
Venice, takes time. One day, or two, your mind can barely recon with the waterways. The small piles of brick dust, a sure sign of its demise, along the calle. The art, stored away in buildings that open to the water, a seagull perched on the windowsill of a room with a thousand mirrors.
The hidden side of Venice is the daily life of the residents. The movers, the bakers, the doctors, the supermarket clerks. The woman who runs a hardware store, selling anything you need to keep your walls from falling down, along with the slippers so frequently worn here. Daily life rotates within the life of the tourists. Through it. They work in plain sight, their jobs, necessary to maintain some kind of balance. Although it seems tilted the other direction, everyone would notice if it stopped.
No one, no one, can quite recon with this floating town of mariners. It is difficult to grasp, to control. It’s wild and unruly. It does what it wants. Every now and again, it floods a few paths, just to remind you, just as an understanding, a warning, a challenge. You can’t control her, you just have to let her be. She does not want your pity or your care, only your attention and your coin.
The green dome of welcome is burned into my eyes.
At first sighting, not registering. A blister in the sun, across the canal that holds it firm.
Subsequent sightings, a greeting, a hug, an embrace of knowing that I’m somewhere I’m meant to be. Somewhere that, over and over again, breaks my heart.
A place of meeting. A place of departure. The station that faces it, one of emotion. The faces of weary travellers seeing Venice for the first time. The tears of a loved one returned. The shape of a loved one departing.