Copyright © 2012 Pirene's Fountain.


All Rights Reserved.

K.J. Van Deusen - poet, wino, foodie, yogi - lives in the Black Hills of South Dakota with a man, a cat, a corgi and the passionate dream of life by an ocean somewhere.  Recent poetry publications include Pirene’s Fountain, Plain Spoke:  A Literary SpeakeasyVictorian Violet Press and Journal and the forthcoming Black Hills Writers Group Anthology.  Her fondest hope is that by the time you read this, the seaside is where you’ll find her.


When You Drink Prosecco in Praiano

Drink to the house made of cake and white fondant
And the one hundred steep stone steps to get there
And its unscreened windows and doors –
The arched barrel-vaulted ones,
The white-iron, gated and scrolled ones
Framing all that blue.

Drink to the bird’s eye views from the terrace
Rooftops, gardens, groves and orchards
The sun-tilting tiles of San Gennaro’s dome
The fishing boats rocking on black glass water.
The many-colored cluttered cliffs of Positano.

Drink to the Mediterranean haze,
The sea and sky all of one color
The tour boats sailing into it and out of it
Capri and the horizon, appearing, disappearing.

Drink to the hand-painted table, laden
The bowl of lemons, the blue-glazed plate
Of cheese and bread and olives –
The green ones bright as limes,
The black wrinkled, glistening with oil.

Drink to the chaise lounge chairs
The salt and jasmine air
The sun falling on skin
Like the fine soft silt of crushed mica.

Drink to the darting Mediterranean lizards
With wallpaper patterns tattooed on their backs
And the Mediterranean snail,
Taking all of an afternoon to travel
One Mediterranean inch. 

Drink to endlessly looking to the water
Through roses and bougainvillea
Through fluted glasses lifted
Through the palest gold wine
And through the tiniest of bubbles
Clinging to strawberries.