I come from peasant stock
arms made for plowing land
and kneading dough
over an open flame
arms made to
hold and be held
to soothe and
to scorn
i am no fragile princess
in towers of ivory
and thorns
i am blossoming seeds
and olive trees
reaching always
for the ones
just out
of reach
my legs are thick
made to withstand
an earthquake
firmly rooted
in place
unflinchingly
sure of
my right
to exist
as if to say
i am here
and i am
not going
anywhere
i come from peasant stock
my eyes
made to crinkle
at the corners
to squint in the sun
to light up from within
as if to say
Come
sit and stay
for awhile
and perhaps
i will give you
a lemon off my tree
or a basket of
tangerines
and as always
a bottle
reused and recycled
the label long
gone
filled to the brim
with liquid
gold
olive oil
a balm for the soul
i pour you some in a bowl
wrap bread and dip
beckoning for you
to try it
and perhaps
i will brew
a tea just for you
i come from peasant stock
so i see God in every tree
every rock, every bee
i do not need a
room or a man
to teach me what i see
what i taste
what i smell
what i hear
all around me
The land whispers
secrets only i can hear
and it tells me
with every rustle of leaves
and every gnarled trunk
the stories
of the people
who first planted the seeds
who tilled the land
and climbed among the trees
the women who blessed me
with strong hands and strong arms
with thick legs and wide hips
Generations of soil stuck under fingernails
and smiles like the full moon
so you see
i come from peasant stock
and i am not ashamed.