On the other side of the mirror
You used to wait for me
As my train pulled into Santa Maria Novella station.
Tired and hungry but so happy to see you,
I would kiss your sweet lips as I melted into your arms
And then we’d grab a pizza and check into Room 411
Where our love, like magic, was renewed,
And would begin again.
Now that station, once so full of life, is empty
Except for police with sticks and masks.
There are no planes or trains
To reconnect lovers who live on opposite sides
Of that great ocean.
All that remains are the vacant buildings where people once stood and played
And lovers with cones of gelato trickling down their fingers once kissed
By the statue of the porcellino.
On the other side of the mirror,
It seemed like thousands of years went by
As constellations chased each other across the universe
And every moment that we spent together
Was like a magic lozenge sweet with rays of setting sun.
On this side of the mirror,
There is no magic or fantasy.
Days move quickly and night comes before I realize that morning has already departed
And the only sounds are the shrieks of ambulances taking the sick away
And the silence of quarantines
That imprison beating hearts
And turn hot tears of separation
To cold and dusty memories
On the other side of the mirror
Where all has been forgotten.
Rosalind Resnick
April 30, 2020
You used to wait for me
As my train pulled into Santa Maria Novella station.
Tired and hungry but so happy to see you,
I would kiss your sweet lips as I melted into your arms
And then we’d grab a pizza and check into Room 411
Where our love, like magic, was renewed,
And would begin again.
Now that station, once so full of life, is empty
Except for police with sticks and masks.
There are no planes or trains
To reconnect lovers who live on opposite sides
Of that great ocean.
All that remains are the vacant buildings where people once stood and played
And lovers with cones of gelato trickling down their fingers once kissed
By the statue of the porcellino.
On the other side of the mirror,
It seemed like thousands of years went by
As constellations chased each other across the universe
And every moment that we spent together
Was like a magic lozenge sweet with rays of setting sun.
On this side of the mirror,
There is no magic or fantasy.
Days move quickly and night comes before I realize that morning has already departed
And the only sounds are the shrieks of ambulances taking the sick away
And the silence of quarantines
That imprison beating hearts
And turn hot tears of separation
To cold and dusty memories
On the other side of the mirror
Where all has been forgotten.
Rosalind Resnick
April 30, 2020
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