the other day i saw your face squinting in sunlight
and i almost went to confession right then and there.
you had the kind of eyes a basilica would crumble before.
but we were doomed before we started, you and i.
we were doomed since your great great great grandparents moved to utah, doomed before my folks cried to st anthony over a rosary,
doomed when i took my first espresso shot.

my ma always wanted me to marry dino down the street so
she’s been a lost cause but my father,
my father with his goddamn italian sailor mouth,
my father liked you— till you came to sunday dinner.
whatta-ya-mean he-no-wanta-the-vino-well-fuck-him-he’s-american-anyway do you remember? i was winedrunk wonderful-in-tipsy-love with you

well, eternal marriage sounds beautiful and all
(even if the pope doesn’t agree)
and you are lovelier than all the serenatas,
but i’ll have to apologize on behalf of italy
because what is life anyways without a goddamn cappuccino.

Olivia Umstead

Olivia Rose is the 2020 recipient of the Academy of American Poets Jean Burden Poetry Prize. She has over twenty five publications, including poems featured in Querencia Press, Beyond Words Literary Magazine, Tofu Ink Arts Press, and Gypsophila. Her work has been praised and honored by the California Writers Club, the San Mateo County Poet Laureate and the San Mateo County Literary Arts Department. Olivia holds a degree in Creative Writing and is currently pursuing a juris doctor in Los Angeles. All of her published work is featured on @oliviarosethewriter on Instagram and highlights are featured on www.oliviaumstead.com