Words by Julia Fullard
To Prato, castles, and most importantly, home.
28 June 2023
There’s a castle in the centre of this city,
A mediaeval castle
And the tour guide said that it no longer holds ancient ruins inside of it
Today, it’s an open-air cinema
Playing films all summer, she says
A screen against its grey stone walls –
Walls that can be climbed by narrow staircase
Worn by memories past,
Awash with those just made, present-day
Isn’t it nice that old things can be made new again?
Emptied of tired, broken parts
Pretty
And yet still historic
29 June 2023
I like mediaeval castles made of grey stone
Like the one in the middle of the piazza
I like their spiral staircases and
The view from the top:
Pastel orange houses against
Green hills, made blue by distant cloud
I like flowers, flaming pink, for 25 euros
And cheap bottles of red wine split between three
I like gelati twice a day: in the noon heat and evening breeze,
Espressos in small tangerine glasses and
Pastries filled with lemon custard, ordered in a
Broken, glared at Italian
And so, I really do like Prato
Yet still, I miss Melbourne
Still, home
