pasquali's for the holiday

M. thought like an artichoke
i mean she thought she’d like one
a fond memory
I knew what she was talking about

without family in Roma
holidays are our time to eat out
we walked to a popular locale in the ghetto
forty minutes before the usual lunch time

already a crowd outside was buzzing
all had made reservations the day before
the head man said they were fully booked
the doors hadn’t opened yet we were turned away

bused up the Corso through holiday crowds
then around the corner to Pasquali’s
a familiar favored haunt,
one we had found a decade ago

he and his wife work the counter,
daughter cooks, the son waits tables
they smiled when they saw us
as we smiled at them

we took our table again
one we had known and tested
ate pasta amtriciana
drank red house wine with our meal

all was as it should be
we ate among friends
it was like home again
for the holiday