In my veins

In my veins,

my parents walk hand in hand

reading letters written

across the ocean of a world war.

I look out with my father’s eyes

remarking on the country he fought to preserve

and the sad state of his Grand Old Party

or with my mother’s eyes

to see what season it is

and what flowers and vegetables

she needs to plant.

I see with grandfathers’ eyes,

two farm boys pushed from the land

now gardening their backyards.

My father’s father talks of fishing

and how Lake Okeechobee

is a fisherman’s paradise.

My mother’s father sees again

after decades of being blind,

still blames FDR for the loss of his farm,

ignores the greed of his brothers

and that he was going blind.

One grandmother looks in a mirror

to see how tall I’ve grown

and offers pastries.

The other stares in a mirror

no longer angry or judgmental,

but I still don’t know what

or how she sees the world.

In my veins,

run my parents’ blood

and their parents’ blood

and their parents’ blood

on and on through generations

I can’t decipher

and only blood knows.

(do not know date written, recognized by the Jasper Project)