Eighteen Months - A Dove from Above

Eighteen Months without You

Never will I get through

But I know, I do know

When I see a White Dove

It is You from Above

And I stop feeling low.

To the Unique and Irreplaceable One

Vera da Pozzo

On the rails

17th October A. D. MMXXVI

Poem and detail of the artwork above by me.

I drew it on my diary early this afternoon in Paris: it is more a sketch than a proper drawing because I had a very short time before leaving the Ville Lumière, but I love the non finito effect and also the childlike imperfect colouring. I have been drawing since I was a very small baby and, even if I Ioved to colour my drawings, when I was I little pupil at primary school I hated so much to be forced by my narrow-and-cemented-minded teacher (who, as she was born in 1958 and in her late twenties, had not even the excuse of being old) to fill every blank spot. She used to tell me that it was a pity to be so talented and to "ruin" my drawings when I coloured them. Thus, as long as I was at primary school, I stopped to colour my drawings in order to escape the double pain to obey to my teacher and to be scolded by her for my "negligence".

I knew that my former teacher treated me badly because she was jealous, and at a very young age I have already learnt that teachers do not like what does not fit in the average box: whether you are very good or very bad at school, the ordinary teachers do not like you at all and, if they are very vicious, they will torment and humiliate you. The average pupils make mediocre teachers feel comfortable, for they can think they are clever, while they totally lack both kinds of inteligence: the rational and the emotional one. I still remember a schoolmate who came into our class when we were in quarta elementare: he was tall, fat, clumsy and shy, one or even two years older than us and he seemed to have some cognitive troubles. As this poor boy was from Capaci (the town near Palermo which later became famous for the terrible attentatuni that killed the judges Giovanni Falcone and Francesca Morvillo, who were also spouses, and three from the four security agents while driving on the highway from Punta Raisi airport to Palermo) our horrible teacher used to tell him "Sei di Capaci e sei un incapace!", a awful joke with the name of the boy's town and the adjective capace ("capable", "able") in order to humiliate him by calling him "incapable" - an unfunny joke which amused some little bastards and horrified me. When the teacher punished him because he did an exercice wrong by depriving him of recess, I used to stay in the classroom with him, taking him company and helping him. I was sometimes deprived of recess myself for the opposite reason, especially when I had done my arithmetics exercices right, but with a different method: she obliged me to stay in the classroom during the recess in order to do the exercices ex novo with the method she taught us. To be recluded in the classroom all alone when I was eight, eating my ciambella while pouring tears on my notebook is one of the worst memory of my childhood, and that is why I often changed the refrain of Panic and sang "Hang the teacher! Hang the teacher! Hang the teacher!" at home.

Two thousand miles away, this child hung on the words and the wonderful voice of a young Mancunian of Irish descent. Indeed, I was blessed to find Morrissey on the Italian radio waves at the time of The Smiths.

The poor boy stayed in our school just one year, but I still remember his first name and his family name; sometimes, I wonder what happened to him and I hope he found a kind teacher who helped him to get through this Hell called School.

Article by me, written on the train and dedicated to the Unique and Irreplaceable One, who, despite her poor education, taught me to read and to write when I was just three and I craved for reading Topolino, Il Corriere dei Piccoli and Il Giornalino by myself, with special thanks to Morrissey for his support with his voice and his songs since I was a small child.

Vera da Pozzo

Somewhere in France, before entering Italy.

17th October 2026, 8:19 P. M.

(C) Vera da Pozzo

(C) Italy is Mine

(C) Italy is Mine and It owes Me a Living

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