20 Clinton Street

I am from a big white house that captured my childhood like a kitten to a bowl of milk. I am from a grandmother in that house who was as soft as a pillow and gave me a free ticket to happiness..I am from a grandfather in that house who was tender to his "Mae" and knew how to make her smile..I am from a grandfather who worked quietly and thoughtfully in his garden and in his home. I am from a piazza where the shirts I ironed for my grandfather smelled like Old Spice when I got to the collars..

I am from a farm in a city where the chores were done like rituals in the church and food was made with love, and laughter was always for dessert on the piazza..

I am from an aunt who taught me how to put on pantyhose and hold a cigarette..I am from an aunt who called me "Leenie" and never let me get away with myself...

I am from a grandmothers kitchen with Wrigleys gum and warm sugary mashed raspberries, cold cucumbers floating in cider vinager and onion gravy with a side of picallilly..

I am from a grandfather who sat down with me at the end of long hot days on the front porch, talking and waiting for the ice cream truck, the summer that I helped him while Nanie recovered in the front parlor...

and at the end of that summer it was really me who had recovered...