I am from old corner-bent and fading photographs
gifts from two old codgers named Kodak and Eastman.
I am from a West Virginia apartment we call home, a haven
where we lay our heads together on a nighttime pillow.

I am from the heart of the leafy artichoke, the black belly
of the daffodil whose yellow petals challenge the sun.
From laughter at the kitchen table where love
resonates for Sharon who saves my life each day,
and for my parents whom this heart will not forget—
nor Alphonse, nor Joanie, nor Sarah—all with love!

I am from kissing on both cheeks, embracing, praying
each night the darkness will find us safe in our beds.
I am from the boy who learned of God and loves Him still,
the child whose mother’s prayers send angels to guide me.

I am from the Roman Catholic baptism that touched me
with water and oil, from the Holy Communion of bread and wine.
I am from Brooklyn, a budding son from the branch of
a Sicilian family tree where nests of hopes and dreams thrive.
I am from Mama’s pasta sauce poured over Sunday meals.
I am from hot Italian loaves of bread my father baked.

I am from the tears still shed since Papa, Frank, and Anna
left this world in God’s friendship to reserve a place for me.
I am from dreams where I can fly, final words my father spoke,
the prayers in my mother’s Bible, Sharon’s kiss upon my cheek—

all of this and so much more! I am from dusty roads and rocky roads,
smooth macadam, warped sidewalks, sleek ice and snow, friendly white clouds.