Lucca's Wall

built in 56 BC surrounds the old town.

This city within a city enchants me.

I travel its cobblestone streets

narrow and twisting. The same streets

Dante walked when he lived here. 

Bicycles reign. There are few cars.

Miniaturized garbage trucks keep things

pristine. Serenity–– bicycle bells and

conversation fill the air. We pass a small

12th century church its marble façade

carved like a wedding cake.

We enter a small square where

the bronze statue of a seated Puccini,

cigarette in hand, stares out at us.

Across the street, off to the left ––

his home. Lucca’s Guinigi tower,

looms ahead, crowned with a forest

of roof top oak trees.

I long for custard-filled pastry set in a

store window not the huge unwrapped

hams hanging from its ceiling.

We follow our guide turning here,

there, streets clustered with medieval

houses opening onto church squares.

Turning again, a relic of Roman times,

Piazza dell’Anfiteatro. A solitary piece of art

in the arena encircled by tourist filled cafes

and small specialty shops. We find one

filled with scarves of richly colored wool,

cashmere, silk, most tissue thin.

The window display ––a woman weaving

at her loom. There’s even time for pastry.

Add-ons over centuries enlarged wall

ramparts to their massive 17th century size.

Napoleon’s favorite sister planted them

with linden trees after he conquered Lucca

in 1805.  I join walkers, runners, and cyclists

who use the broad tree lined pathways,

watch them, as I make my way

(I’d rather stay)

through the wall’s impressive iron gates,

find our bus ––

back in the twenty-first century.