At our last home, on the side of a hill
the banter of neighbors was sometimes heard
yet dialogues were ever obscured
in mostly muffled, faraway words
Life’s so incredibly different here
in our small Salento town
where mostly open, shuttered doors
carry inside noises out
i’m an accidental eavesdropper
an undercover side-taker
unwittingly impacted
by next-door behaviour
hearing radios and tvs
and whistling when they’re pleased
hearing sobbing, hearing coughing
fret when angry, smile when laughing
happy medleys and cadenced words
a thundering thought, a mournful dirge
conveyed down narrow, cobbled streets
where public and private publicly meet
unwittingly entangled
emotionally ensnared
caught in the middle by an empathetic ear
learning to decipher our new life here
all the strong Italian voices
like a never ending opus
is how each day now greets us
amuses and entreats us
i hear the cafes open up
and people gather round
cafe bottles being rattled
day’s end shutters coming down
i hear dishes being done
and laundry being hung
i hear babies weep for mother
doggies barking at each other
there’s Magda, the parrot, in the center of town
the outdoor mass droning on and on
high heels click-clacking along the street
the town’s eery silence in the mid-day heat
i listen to people returning at night
parents and teens in ubiquitous fights
church bells and car horns, vendors in trucks
scooters and Api and loud motor bikes
i listen to people outside on their phones
as signals are zero inside their old homes
local curmudgeons talk sweet to the strays
old men with walkers bemoan better days
frequent fireworks, far too loud
are also now familiar sounds
though i prefer the young rapper below
filling the air with hip-hop flow
At first, the sounds unsettled me
hearing others’ lives weighed heavily
being covetous of my privacy
the introvert tried to take hold of me
yet I adapt as the weeks depart
the town’s special rhythm now beats in my heart
I’m comforted by a familiar voice
cheered by streets full of music and noise
i like to hear the telephones ring
i love to hear my neighbors’ sing
even the Tom cats’ pre-dawn brawls
seem to offer solace now
the more I listen every day
the strangeness of nearness gets further away
the closer i am and feel i belong
to Castrignano’s close-knit song
Dog-eared Stories by anne celano frohna 