Where I’m From

I am from the rubber gloves that I wear with glee as I shine up my surroundings, from Tide with Bleach and olive oil. I am from the green ivy and the yellow sunflower that I would not give up until finally the wind that used to make it spin, also tore it apart. I am from the tulip, the soft curves of the tulip, that stand tall through the fierce raindrops of the Spring. I am from late night pizza’s and dark eyes, from Betty Jean and Mary.  I am from dark hair, freckles and long slender fingers. I am from beautiful, beautiful brown eyes and don’t ever wish yours were blue. I am from the sign of the cross, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, the breaking of the bread and the wine. I am from the thumb of the mitten and polska, golumbkis and pierogi’s, the sound of the accordion and the four leaf clover. I am from the orphanage that my grandfather ran away from, the street that he passed his own brother on but hadn’t seen him in 10 years, the thankfulness he felt that he was no longer alone, the smell of my grandfathers pipe tobacco and how it always makes me think of him. I am from the worn chest with the leather strap, the yellowed smooth cover of the formerly white album that shows a marriage once breathing, the rocking chair with the yellow cushion that rocked me while my eyelids grew heavy. I am from heartache, hopefulness, and sarcasm, but mostly, I’m from love.