Poetry in Italia

World Phone internet Cafe, Florence, Italy

So the other day my mom had this idea. She told me that we should write a poem about something that we had seen over the past two weeks in Italy. The first thing that went through my head was: "Poetry! No way, that sounds lame." But this has been a broadening last couple of months in my life so I decided to keep an open mind. The next thing that went through my head was a flash of everything I had done in the past two weeks and wondering how I could possibly pick one thing.

Should I write about something I saw during our nine days in Rome, where I saw the Forum, Colisseum, Appian Way, Pompei, St. Peter's, The Vatican, and priceless artistic treasures like Raphael's "School of Athens" and Michealangelo's "La Pieta?" Or should I write about our time in Tuscany, nestled into the beautiful hill towns of Lucca and Siena, taking a private driving tour around the country side with a half-Italian half-Brasilian guy named Andre who was my age and had a remarkably similiar life's story as me?

Or what about the frenetic city of fashion and business Milan with it's Duomo and Da Vinci's "Last Supper?" It was a daunting task. But as I reflected on everything I had seen, my thoughts switched to what I felt I could write a poem about. I think the last time I wrote a poem was in elementary school, and it rhymed! so I knew I was out of practice. But something came to mind when I thought of the Cenacolo Vinciano, so let me give you some quick background.

You can see the photo of the painting at the beginning of this post. Leonardo painted on the wall without using frescoe techniques, so it is miraculous that the painting is still around today. In fact, the church where it is found in was bombed in WWII but amazingly the wall on which the Last Supper is and the frescoe across from it were unaffected.

The idea is that Jesus just told the 12 Apostles that one of them would betray him. You see them all reacting to the news in the painting, capturing the reaction to the Jesus' statement. Judas is the only figure in the painting on which the lighting does not fall. He is the third head to jesus' left.

Here's my poem:

The Last Supper

By Travis Lopes

I feel lost in darkness.

I know he is talking to me.

I wonder if the others can feel it?

I clutch my pouch of coins and feel the darkness welling up inside me.

The noise of silver coins clinking is lost in the uproar:

"Tell me who it is!"

"Is it I Lord?"

"It cannot be me!"

"What did he say?"

"IMPOSSIBLE!!"

I look at Him and my stomach turns inside out. The darkness is overwhelming...

I embrace it.