Where I'm From

I am from pocketbooks, from Swanson’s and mercurachrome.
I am from the ghetto - harsh, dirty, piled with boxes of nothing.

I am from a dresser drawer, Shenanigan's and a Flying Nun doll.
From Easter baskets and blue foil paper.
From homemade paper hats with glitter
and bride dolls made from white, lace slips.

I have a feather in my eye and a sparkly belt buckle.
I feel hunger in my belly as I close my eyes to sleep.

I am from the irises, azaleas, and grave markers, the lily of the valley - small and white, pure and fragile.

I am from feeding ducks at the Hollow
and losing my temper easily,
from McNulty’s and McIntire’s and Copple.

I am from blue goblets and chicken bones.
From roaches and razor blades.

I am from the lilting Irish laughter and steadfast determination.
From eating orange flavored asprin and wanting to play with cash registers.
I am from glow in the dark praying hands, demon eyes and scratches.

I'm from Pennsylvania, and from Philadelphia to 1725.
From macaroni salad to Cheesesteaks.
From penny loafers to no socks or underwear.

I am from orange soda and Rudolph,
From pony rides and waving to a dying mother
From large crucifixes and strangers.

From the basement with pepper on my tongue and a wooden paddle raised in anger --
the hand reaching through the broken glass to turn the doorknob --
the horse placed in the window to find my way home.

I am from a very few sacred black and white photos that remain -
none of which
begin to even resemble
the rainbow of colors my life
has taken on
because of the family
I began to build
almost three decades ago.