“Italian Immigrant Family” by Michael Pitocchi
(Regarding my grandmother’s kitchen)
subdued plaid
barely blue in that
otherwise colorless
well-worn white kitchen
it draped the huge table
where decades of life
spilled and sallied its noise
fifteen chairs none alike
for an immigrant family
precocious with earnest
opinions none alike
every meal heard the
spirited words of debate
in Italian and English
exchanged across clad
neutral tabletop vibrantly
bounced and returned
back and forth never mean
but each argument sturdy
and strong as that durable
utilitarian covering serving
as witness and host to the
process emerging de facto
of naturalization of stirring
the old and new worlds
of ideas and perspectives
to yield a rich blend of a
new generation of citizens
now slightly darker better
fed more emotional deeper
with roots of stout pride in
its empire and renaissance
histories filled with more
fiery passions and
firmly held values
new green white red
colors to liven the
subdued plaid
barely blue otherwise
colorless well-worn
American kitchen
From my book Onionskin
