I am from warm and sandy beaches , from New York pizza and busy traffic.
I am from the smell of salt water as you ride to the boardwalk to meet your friends, the piss yellow house on the corner of the six block town with ghosts in the basement, the diners that are open all night for you to hang in.
I am from the red oak, the violet, the shells on the sand
I am from meatballs and pasta on Sunday afternoons and talking with my hands, from Costanzos and Kings, from Grandma Dee, tough as nails as she went thru the school of hard knocks and Nana Mary, sweet and always had hugs.
I am from the wall of books that never ends and the feeding of anyone who comes to the door hungry.
From if you dont like what the boys say, kick em in the ungats and to treat others how I want to be treated.
I am from the cutthroat Roman Catholics and the more peaceful protestants.
I'm from Mt.Kisco, New York, Dunmore, PA, Brooklyn, NY. I am from homemade Minestrone soup and frozen and hidden Peanut Chews in the fridge in the Pops garage.
From the mother who didnt know how to be affectionate but showed caring in other ways, from the grandma who taught me how to shop and be frugal at the tender age of three (it was better than school), the sister who let me tag along to get into trouble, and the best friends who didnt like each other but both loved me.
I am from boxes of black and whites showing large communities, families surviving together thru the Great Depression, New Beginnings, travels in the brown hot station wagon to see cousins by the hundreds, rich history of togetherness.
2 comments:
Nice one. I did this, too, stolen from Sandra (and, of course, the root poem/meme/thing).
Your life sounds very much warmer and better-fed than mine was!
Thanks for doing that.
And the books thing, too.... sheesh. Yeah. I hardly ever had any books.
Post a Comment