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￭ The only thing
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2015-10-13 | |
I am from lace tablecloths,
from Betty Crocker brownies and frosty wedding cakes.
I am from the hard-baked brick house,
crackling, roasted apples by the fireplace.
I am from fragile lilac bushes,
stretching baby limbs towards the sun,
the gentle touch of the algae in the Black Sea.
I am from pig slaughter in December
and working hard for everything weâ€™ve got,
from Mihaela and Vasile and Stefan.
I am from the fishing trips dad and I used to go on
and his favorite spot by the waterfall.
From Stop reading or youâ€™ll ruin your eyes!
and We all have to do our part!
I am from ancient Orthodox saints
watching over us from glossy icons,
from namesakes and godparents.
I am from Medgidia
and thousands of years of Roman conquerors,
from stuffed cabbage leaves and roasted lamb.
From the delicate way my Grandpaâ€™s hands
carried me home from the train station,
cruel winter winds biting his cheeks
flushed with joy,
his first grandchild, no bigger than a milk bottle.
I am from scrapbooks,
old black and white photographs
which I am afraid to make copies of because
they are as old and as fragile as my Grands,
if only I could keep them as they are
forever small, yet bigger than life,
always by me.
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