I hear an accordian
playing from up the stairs
on the CD player
I recieved as a birthday present.
I hear the creak
beneith my feet
as I ascend
to the mid-level of our house.
Out on the counter
is cheese
wine
and bread, all french.
On the CD player
is a gleeful piece
that you'd hear
from a parisian cafe.
And there
on the stove
is a big vat of potatoes
showing our true heritage.
This is the part of my family,
aunt, uncle, mother and me,
who pretend france
is connected to poland.
Erica Francis
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-birthday-for-mom/
