I am from…
the space
between the metal rungs of the porch
two stories over the garden
my grandpa grew
figs drying over the a/c vent
grape vines clinging to bricks
a scent of the Aegean sea, carried in seeds
I am from the life breath of Ladino melodies
memories plucked on an Oud, half broken
the woven but unwoven threads of the rug
that I danced on as my legs grew longer
I am from peaches, and brisket, and squash pie
honeysuckle vines
cracks in the sidewalk that widen and know my steps
praying mantis on the concrete stairway
ants, squirrels, pigeons, and cats
and basements that creak with buried treasures
of lives lived long before mine
I am from my grandmother’s laughter
the secret knowing
the truth behind walls
the love behind the words
bubbelah, shaina maidela
my ceppala dreaming of horses running freely
and trees triumphant
And before and back….
I am from green rolling slopes
gentle mountains
Carpathian streams
chamomile and nettles
cows and sheep
a wood stove and a basket
I am from the hearts longing to know themselves
before the times of unfathomable pain
I am from
bustling families
villages
gifts given and received
I am from the Rosh Hodesh song to the first sliver of moon
herbs drying from wooden beams
dirt kicked up on the path
I am from the love of music
and the music of love
rising like morning mist
to meet the pain of loss
and to gather as dew
as tears
dripping, finding their way to the roots
of the huckleberries
and the cedars
holding the silent, spongy ground
I am from waves of aromas
chicken soup, potatoes, breads
all the hands feeding
and praying, drinking
and blessing
The Afikomen
generously hidden,
freely given
a passing conviction
a story told with a smile
some flair and some style
and the place where patience and impatience
hold hands
and watch the sea