Showing Rome to My Brother
It’s an important moment getting off the train
together, my first time with family
in Rome. We begin by fighting,
nearly, when I ask, “What do you want
to see?” Which later, I understand
overwhelmed him since Rome
is vast and grand and impossible to know.
I’m frustrated too, because I’m not a planner
and when I come to Rome, I wander,
look at paintings, and draw in piazzas,
which sounds pretentious to him,
because he doesn’t draw and doesn’t know
anyone who would travel halfway around the world
to see a painting, which, other than people,
is one thing I would travel for, since if it’s the right
painting and you give up being blind
for just a moment, it could change your life.
But I don’t say that to him.
Just shrug and start walking down one of the wide Fascist
streets toward the Coliseum,
making vague remarks about government buildings
and where to buy a SIM card, and all that time
I keep thinking about Caravaggio
and how Paul, sprawled beneath
a horse, has the expression of clouds
at sunrise, his arms slightly raised,
while all around the world keeps moving.