hannahziomek

Lauren and I ended up at the Scuderie del Quirinale accidentally. We had just gotten lunch after our day in the Forum Romanum and were both exhausted. I did not really pay attention while when we were walking to lunch and when we went to leave we realized we had no idea where we were. We walked for a little until Lauren pointed saying “I see the Spanish Steps!” Relieved we ventured towards the steps, knowing the familiar Spagna metro stop was nearby. However, as we kept walking towards the steps I sensed that something was off. I hadn’t had time to put in my contacts that morning but the blurry stairs in the distance didn’t look quite right. Slowly the road became more of an incline and I began to sweat. Lauren complained that this was “worse than the Janiculum” and I should’ve realized then but it was only when we reached the top of the steps, that were indeed not the Spanish Steps, when I said “I think we’re on the Quirinal Hill.” My suspicions were confirmed by a helpful plaque

I collapsed onto my bed exhausted after a long day at the Vatican. The clock read 5:45pm. I didn’t want to move. A borderline traumatic experience with the crowds in the Sistine Chapel had put me into a mood. The clock changes to 5:46. The chicken trapizzino I had just eaten sits in my stomach like a cold hard rock. 5:47. Lauren from the other side of the room asks me, “Do you think that we have time to do a solo excursion right now?” I groan. We had a meeting at 7pm that night so I seriously doubted it. My stomach hurts. “Maybe” I said and slowly took out my laptop to google map possible locations. I wanted to go to a small church after being overwhelmed by many large basilicas over the past couple of days. 5:48. “Wait there’s a church that’s open right now and is only a five-minute walk from the Spagna metro stop. 5:52. I don’t know if it’s the beer still in my stomach from lunch or just a sudden miracle surge of energy, but Lauren and I are sitting on the metro on t

Intense are the eyes of a mother. He is weak, but she is strong. Her hair is pulled back so that she may look clearly at the face of her perfect child. It may seem that her eyes wander from the hound but in truth his canine eyes are an extension of her own sight. Dedicated are the eyes of the hound. He keeps watch on the world while she keeps watch over the child. Holding him not too close but not too far. The child reaches for her and he is an extension of her own heart decorated with the same ebony and ivory and with the same soul. Curious are the eyes of the child. He wonders why the woman above him stares so gently, so lovingly. She holds him far and not close enough. Like Gaea she created her own beautiful world although he is a much smaller one. And she created her own creature to guard her world like Cerberus guards the ones below. Fierce are the eyes of the gods who cast their own prejudices upon mortals. A mother can only ke

Vincenzo stares at his crossword puzzle, his face dripping with sweat. He rolls up his sleeves and takes out a cigarette to smoke but then shakes his head and puts it back. He stares at his crossword again without ever looking up at the beautiful piazza surrounding him. He was doing anything he could to avoid talking to his ex-wife. She was sitting on the bench beside him about a foot away, tapping her foot passive aggressively. Tap tap tap . “What’s an eight-letter word for public dishonor?” Vincenzo wondered. “When will that woman ever stop talking?” he also wondered You see Isabella, Vincenzo’s ex-wife, has been talking to him this whole time and seemed to not find it necessary to breathe between words like a normal human being would. One day, every year, Vincenzo has to deal with this. Their children had decided that on Republic Day they would all watch the military parade and then spend the day together. So now, the parade has been over for hours and Vincenzo still ha