Rivamonte, Italy

The clouds billowed 

around sharp peaks.

Big, round puffs ballooned through the valley 

against the shock of bright blue.

All of this drama

the backdrop of a cemetery

that seemed to be floating 

right in the middle of it.

The tiny town, a lost 

refuge in the hidden 

recesses of the Dolomites, 

found 

by generations of Northern Italians 

who would call it 

home.

And in the cemetery, 

my mother promised a prize 

to whichever grandchild found our relatives.

I wondered what the dead thought 

of the children’s enthusiastic game.

Little feet scuffing the sand 

as they ran 

around their graves.

Joyful voices calling out names 

into the fresh mountain air.