I am from blankets

And pillows

I am from the bricks

All red and tan

it felt rough and rigid

I am from green bushes,

the palm tree

that pricks whatever

passes by.

I’m from baking cookies

and brown eyes

From Paul and Carlalee

I’m from the always lates and

Last to leave

If you have nothing nice to say don’t

say anything at all

And family always first

I’m from no church Sundays

but holiday visits.

I’m from Metairie and

Frank’s Branch

Rice and Spaghetti

From the hearing my

grandfather lost at war

the country my dad

left to be here.

In my grandma’s closet pictures

Overflowing from the boxes

I am from the family members

who left their hometowns

to live the American Dream.