I am from fridge with no handle and 70's orange shag
I am from three houses built by grandpa's hands
I am from the walnut tree
The ammo that fell from that tree
whose long gone limbs for climbing I remember
as if they were my own.
I'm from German potato pancakes and scalding sarcasm
from Monga and mother
I'm from poolside water fights and disown-you fights
and from secrecy
I'm from You think you're so cute and What's so funny?
and Anyone can leave you, but you always have your family
I'm from black licorice ice cream cones dripping down baby bellies
I'm from 425 Airway Avenue and never beyond 10 blocks from there
home-made mac & cheese and Stove Top stuffing
From Monga talking her way out of tickets
squealing her tires and calling it an accident
the angel & star Mom and I hung on our first Christmas tree
kept in a box to be brought out, and hung again together 32 times now
I'm from the generations of photos we sorted after forgetting took Monga's final breath:
Well, I'm glad SOMEbody appreciates me
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ReplyDeleteBlogger Gabbie corrected a spelling mistake and is reposting her comment :]
ReplyDelete"Black licorice ice cream cones..." How come that stuff is never for sale any more? Or am I just looking in the wrong places? I love that image of the dripping ice cream. And the star. So perfect. Beautiful poem. It is weird how this format works so well time and time again.
Again, I like the 3D look at your grandma.
ReplyDelete