Urge to Rome

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…stood in the kitchen with the five other mothers of the settima classe—the seventh grade. Curious to visit an Italian home since our arrival in Rome, here I finally was, one of le ragazze, the girls. There was nothing exotic about the room: modern counters, appliances, wall phone with an extra-long cord. A window looked onto a back yard where a yapping collie blend wrestled with a pink rubber ball. I could have been in New York. Ohio. Anywhere in America. Only the clouds of cigarette smoke, the undecipherable staccato banter and the Moka pot on…

By Kyra Robinov