Contessa -

I had nearly completed my first book,

On Italian small-farm olive oil,

One more interview and the project was through,

I was ready to see my home soil,

The farmhouse was sprawling and rustic,

But a princess opened the door,

Some years after the ball, no Prince Charming would call,

Yet I saw all she’d been and then more.

And she laughs when I call her «Contessa»,

And I watch her work all afternoon,

What she’s chosen demands that her pale, slender hands

Become weathered and careworn too soon.

And the lines of her face speak of privilege and grace,

But she talks to me like an old friend,

And as we blather on, soon the daylight is gone,

And I don’t want the evening to end.

Every day brings the scorn of her fellows,

Those who should join her in the old ways,

They’ve abandoned their arts for machines with steel parts

That make oil in hours, not days.

As time passes we speak less of oil

Sometimes not even speaking at all

And she eyes me, bemused, but she does not refuse

When I offer to help through the fall.

And she laughs when I call her «Contessa»,

And each night I hear her family’s tale,

Of their triumphs and tears over hundreds of years

And how frightened she is she might fail.

And I shake my head, saying something foolish,

And she smiles at my schoolboy charms,

And we’re both so surprised by the light in our eyes

As we fall into each others' arms.

One day, my first draft reached the office,

With a letter in which I resigned

Whatever I’d looked for while writing a book

Turned out not to be what I would find

Now I study the grape and the olive,

I study the climate and lands,

And what I don’t know, she will patiently show

With her weathered and beautiful hands.

And she laughs when I call her «Contessa»,

But she’s grateful I do all the same,

She has much to do yet, and she will not forget

All the strength of her family name.

And machines do the work on the big farms,

They sell much more oil than she,

But she sells enough, and their hands aren’t as rough

As a artisan’s hands ought to be.

My aging princess and her careworn caress,

My lovely Contessa and me.