I am from...

I am from mud between my toes and river water in my eyes.
I am from German potato salad and sauerbraten and schnittlauch.
I am from cream of mushroom soup and Brady Bunch lunch pails.
I am from my mother’s beehive hairdo and my father’s Christian Brother’s on the rocks.

I am from leisure suits and merit badges and Sunday school.
I am from snowball fights and mosquito spray and curled up dogs.
I am from sidelong glances, discovery and closed doors.

I am from my mother’s voice; “You can do it. You can succeed.”
I am from my father’s indifference: his sleeping, waking years.
I am from my father’s death alone on the hospital bed.
I am from my mother’s death, my hand in hers, whispering “Mom, mom…”

I am from mirrors cracked, fogged, clear, shining.
I am from agony and rebirth, divorce and union.
I am from love of self, hatred of self, reconciliation.
I am from loneliness, despair, rejoicing
I am from dreaming of finding a man’s hand in mine and then looking down to find it there.