Where I'm From

I am from kitchen clatter,
from clutter and chatter, and coffee after dinner.
I am from corningware dishes
And flatware that came free with a toaster and a bank account.
I’m from the yard, not the garden,
from the transistor radio and books read in the deep “v”’ of the maple tree.
I’m from pussy willows and parking lots,
and lilacs! whose heady, heavy scent I can still smell through the window of memory.

I’m from lemon ices in summer and corduroys in winter,
from 'mybetts' and 'seamus,'
from debaters and teasers, the outraged and outrageous
I’m from do good, avoid evil,
and if you can’t be good, be careful.
I’m from reading is fundamental with a library card
and a collection of condensed classics
on the shelf beside my bed.

I’m from Billy Joel songs and bike paths,
backyard barbeques and Jones beach,
from my father’s sun-reddened back and my mother’s muscled arms
When I peer in the mirror, my inheritance stares back --
I smooth my mother’s brows, brush my father’s teeth,
wipe the paste from my grandma’s chin…
a legacy of hearts and hopes in my own bits and pieces.