Grandpa Steve Holds My Childhood in His Hands

I come from an Old Farmhouse

and Woods that the 6 of us ran through for 7 acres

I come from Raspberry bushes, Tall oak trees

and tapping Maples in the Fall

I come from Raking leaves only to Jump in the pile

and stuffing Gold and Red ones into an old shirt and jeans to make a Scarecrow

I come from Dirt pancakes baking on the driveway

and crunchy wind-dried Towels

I come from, “if it’s not nice, don’t say it.”

and “hug your brother on the bottom step until you’ve made up”

I come from a family that extends beyond Blood

and dry Sarcasm happily Married to every conversation

I come from two best friends named Emily,

and my Godmother singing at Church on Sunday

I come from cold 17 Bean soup that Sat in the bowl while I Sat at the table

and requesting Pop-pop’s Mac & Cheese ever year for my Birthday Dinner

I come from being caught Red handed with dirt-fresh Carrots

and “pony chee” stories from my Mom

I come from listening to Pat pray the Rosary with the lights dimmed low

and Dreaming of being just like her when I Grew up

I come from homemade dinner every Night

and a “Smorgishboard” at the end of each week

I come from Hand-Me-Down clothes

and sparkling New shoes at the beginning of every school year

I come from homemade Hats, Mittens, and Scarves every winter

and an old trunk on the porch full of Baseball gloves to Pass the summer days

I come from hunting for acorns on the ground,

and elephants in the trees- while holding your hand

I am shaped by these moments that I Resist letting go of as these memories fade into “Childhood”


This poem is about: 
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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