Cover

Reading sample

A NICE ITALIAN GIRL

By Marianne LaValle-Vincent

Ti Amo

Dedication

To La Famiglia

 

Thank you for making my life worthwhile

 

And:

 

To Joe Fournier

My dear friend who shall remain forever in my heart. I miss you so……….

I'll be seeing you
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces
All day and through
In that small cafe
The park across the way
The children's carousel
The chestnut trees
The wishing well

I'll be seeing you
In every lovely summer's day
In everything that's night and day
I'll always think of you that way

I'll find you in the morning sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon…….
But I'll be seeing you

 

Always,

Marianne

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Part of Me

Rick Who?

Garlic

Sunday Morning

Last Supper

Daily Bread

Superstitions

Never on Friday

The Good Book

It’s Hard to Love a Mayonaisse Face

Trading Lunches

My Big Fat Excommunication

Mixed Marriage

Louigina

Kim Novak Was a Damn Lucky Lady

Can Love Flourish Between a Nice Italian Girl and a Cowboy?

Pasta Every Thursday

The Huckster

If I Wasn’t a Nice Italian Girl

Husband #1

Bread

The Glass Bowl

Unprotected

In My Mother’s Shadow

One from Column B

Parochial League Girls

Me and Mr. Jones

La Famiglia

Hey, Vito

JESS @ 26

Some Thoughts on Getting Older

Remembering Mikey

The Destefano Girls

Evil

Achilles’ Heel

Traditions

Go Ask Alice

Dad

Death Grip

Love on the Brain

Gotta End in a Vowel

I Coulda Been a Contenda!

Davelyn

Once Upon a Time

Full Use of the Remote

Italian by Choice

Jake and Sean

Life Lesson

Iron Chef

Lost Girl

Magic Man

Los

Perhaps

Solitary Shades

Favorites

Addicted to Love

Life Lesson #2

Alivia

Red Dress

On Being a Mom

Sleeping Late

Moonstruck

Karma

When I’m Gone

Afterthoughts

Dreamweaver

My Grandson’s First Heartbreak

Life Lesson #19

Love Me---Love My Dog

Blink

My Love

I Want

Song for the Loveless

The Fault in Our Stars

Someone

Believer

Sustenance

Beginnings

Over The Rainbow

Before

Black and White

Time

Pain

Epilogue

Biography

PART OF ME

olive oil drips from my

lips

eager to find its way into

my mouth open and yearning

the aroma of cured meats

tempts and teases

as I close my eyes

imagining the taste of

love

and immediately

taste buds respond

taking in the delicious

delicacies savoring each

morsel

 

thoughts reach back to

yesteryear

as the huckster offers his

pickings

fresh and glistening in the summer

sun

and my mother chooses

only the best

for LaFamiglia

 

she makes the meal

effortlessly

and the lingering bouquet

beckons us to the

table

as I feast on

the love and heritage

that completes me

RICK WHO?

my father was curious

about him

his name wasn’t part of our

dictionary

I brought him home for dinner and

approval

my mother served Stracciatella and fresh bread

with a warm antipasto di mare

we bowed our heads as she said Grace

in our native Italian tongue

and my family ate like it was their last

meal but

he didn’t-- he didn’t even talk

and he never called me again

and that night as I sobbed into my pillow

my dad said I should be happy

because if I married that boy

his mother would make me eat lettuce

sandwiches with mayonnaise on white bread

 

all night long I dreamed of that boy and what it would

be like in his home

eating hot dogs and potato chips and drinking

grape cool aid

 

I awakened to the smell of a warm

roasted pepper and mozzarella frittata

with slices of toasted ciabatta that we dunked

in rich dark espresso

and I sat with my family to eat and drink

till I couldn’t remember his name

*****I wanted to be a skinny ballerina—but I was the short pudgy girl

with the big boobs who ate pasta 3 times a week

Marianne LaValle-Vincent

GARLIC

he invited me

for dinner

small bowls of tuna casserole

laced with ketchup

lined the vinyl kitchen

table

while paper napkins

folded in half sat to the

left

white and waiting

for use

and there was

Wonder Bread

with

oleo

 

I couldn’t eat

 

the aroma of roasted

garlic

filled my kitchen

hot loaves of rosemary bread

sat in baskets on the

wooden table

begging to be dipped in the

steaming pot of sauce

while the rigatoni and

meatballs tempted

and enticed

white linen napkins

folded to perfection

graced our laps and

Chianti filled glasses

offered toasts to

good health

Salute!

 

I bowed my head

told my parents

I loved them

and inhaled the garlic

like a drug

SUNDAY MORNING

I placed the white lace veil

on my head

where it clung to the hair spray

as if it were afraid to let

go

and I rolled my plaid

skirt

to an almost shameful

length

slithered into red leather

boots

and headed to St. Cecilia’s

 

we sat in the last pew

chewed our gum

and talked about fast boys

shooting “come hither”

glances to the guys in

the opposite bench

 

our parade to communion

shocked the congregation

make up resembling

hookers

hot pink lips pursed

and ready for

action

we took the

host

as if we were

deserving

and sneaked out the back

with mouths still full of forgiveness

 

in the basement of the

church

I washed off the war paint

and lowered my skirt before heading home----

then he called me his

“Angel”

and I pretended to

fit the name

LAST SUPPER

he was white and fluffy and beautiful

and I loved him

I would visit him in the backyard

in the morning when it was still dewy

drops of moisture on the grass

he would stick his coral tipped nose out

wiggling it for me to pet

eating everything I gave him

though he wasn’t especially fond of

carrots

I could talk to him about anything

and he listened

sometimes I made up tales

but he never judged

I told my uncle he hated that cage

But he just laughed and told me

“keep feeding him—cause I like ‘em fat”

 

it was a Thursday morning when he ran away

his cage door was ajar and I sobbed—like I lost a sibling

and I cried even harder as I hid in the dining room

listening to Uncle Louie describing his supper

delicious and dripping with sauce

using the homemade bread to mop up the juices

of the sweet and savory meat that no longer breathes

sentenced to death on an ember filled chamber

my friend

my confidante

a delicacy

 

he’s white and fluffy and beautiful

and lives in our family room

my daughter talks to him about everything

she feeds him all the time cause he’s a little thin

------but it’s ok

DAILY BREAD

he never took a knife to the

bread

the heel was ripped from the loaf

by calloused hands

and he used it like a spoon

soaking up the juices of the

beans and greens

circling the bowl again and

again

sometimes dipping into the larger

pot

and licking his lips in sheer delight

he would nod

at the woman in the apron

sending approval and ordering

more

and when he finally cleaned his mouth

on the perfectly ironed linen

napkin

and rested from his feast

he thrust out his full belly

patting and rubbing it

and quickly fell asleep

in the delicious aftertaste of his

indulgence

SUPERSTITIONS

they took me to her

the old lady in the village

and laid me on her

table

naked child

I was

as she forced my arms and legs

to meet

and rubbed me with olive oil and garlic

while she chanted in Italian

frightening away the demons

she claimed lived in me

making the sign of the cross

again and again

and when she was through

she guaranteed my health

I can still see that toothless

smile

and smell the aroma of the burnt

garlic

 

now when I emerge from the shower

after lathering myself with creamy

white lotion that smells of

linen

I inhale its scent

but still I smell the clove

from which I came

and the odor of my ancestry

that lingers forever in my soul

NEVER ON FRIDAY

it was only one day a week

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 21.02.2018
ISBN: 978-3-7438-5758-2

Alle Rechte vorbehalten

Nächste Seite
Seite 1 /