Fragility Unseen and Close

Not far from the tourists,
closer than you would imagine,
the truth lives. A flawed and perfect underbelly
of quiet. Old bricks, columns, and graffiti,
a place more true than the postcards
and Instagram glossies.

You seek such places, more comfortable here
than most. More than willing to leave
the sidewalks and storefronts
for the dirty histories and fragile walls
that hold the whole thing up,
unseen. Frightfully important
for all its fragility.

About this poem

If you go to Venice for a day, you will likely be dropped off at Saint Mark’s Square with its palace and the beautiful basilica, with its cafes that line the square. It is a mob scene most days (at night, it mostly clears out), and they have made San Marco a shopping mall for the rich and aspirational. Gucci. Louis Vitton. All the big names have stores in the Renaissance buildings and narrow streets, and incredible crowds fill the narrow streets.

But, detour into the alleyways and you find hints of what the city once was. And you find silence. It feels improbable and, for me, wonderful. More the Venice I remember than the glitz and noise. Worth the trip. Worth the being there. And so very human, where the truth always lies beneath what lives on the surface.

That truth, architectural or soulful, is never what is seen at first, never as bright or safe, but it is always worth the journey. Far more interesting. Far more truthful. Richer for all its flaws. Worth the momentary uncomfortableness.

The truth always is. Not always an easy lesson. But one worth learning.

Be well. Travel Wisely.

Tom