In Rhodes Again
In midday, an ancient breeze across the Byzantine Sea
Enters my bedroom
And soothes my burning skin.
Mother was right.
To be buried by the sea wind
Keeps spirits involved with life.
The whistling of pine trees
Give the dead their secrets.
Even from the grave comes vengeance
In gossips of million lying possibilities.
Yet the town wears blue and white
So Greek that it is hardly mythical.
Who would remember the company?
Crusades, Mongols, Turks, Romans,
Italians, Germans, Scottish, British, Americans,
All for a sense of this endless ancient breeze.
A fig with its bleeding heart
Soothes my craving for a piece of land and history.
No one is forgotten here.
Maria Kranidis teaches in the English Department at Suffolk County Community College. She has lived on Long Island, NY, for over twenty years. Born in Greece and raised in New York City, she finds the world to be chaos waiting to be put into order. She goes to Greece every year to find that order…only to discover that she thinks in Greek, writes in English, and feels in both.