Member Poem

I come from a place where there’s always coffee in the pot and food for guests, no matter the hour they come calling,
              where dogs wander through cemeteries and kids nurse wounded pigeons.

I come from a place where beaded curtains dapple afternoon light
              and the summer sun sets with such fury, it blinds cars for miles.

I come from a place where you find patterns in the kitchen tile,
              where every ruddy cheeked child is a blessing from God, and you better be sure to credit him.

I come from a place of gold necklaces, gold bracelets, gold earrings, and hard stares,
              where grandmas swear and mothers soothe.

I come from a place where street cleaning is on Thursdays,
              where, through the living room window, I watched its noisy bulk chug from left to right, scrubbing away the days’ clutter.