Yesterday

I'm from concrete sidewalks,
from shoulder to shoulder buildings.
I'm from incinerators burning garbage,
the smell of cabbage and gefilte fish
mingling in the hallway.
I am from a pushcart
selling jelly apples on a stick,
        from egg creams at the candy store,
        my grandmother's honey cake
and potato latkes that sizzled in the pan.


I'm from pink spaldeen balls,
stickball in the street,
a hopscotch court drawn with chalk,
I'm from Around the World 
             and Walk the dog
             with a Duncan yo yo.
From cap guns and balsa airplanes
and a shoebox of cut out dolls.

I'm from playing Pisha Pasha,
with my Grandma Yette—
a card game she learned
in a shtetl in Poland 

I'm from "Never cross a picket line"
"Vote the democratic ticket"
history lessons at the dinner table,
a distant relative in the Tsar's army,
a grandfather in the Teamster's union,
and should the Rosenberg's be released.

I'm from walking to the library
with Ellen every Monday after school
        where the librarian knew our names
        and listened to the stories we told
        of mythical kingdoms and good and evil
       
I'm from my father reading history era by era,
my mother drawing dress patterns on brown paper,
my grandmother crocheting table cloths.

I am from three rooms,
acres of space to roam 
a desk of my own
and a love of words.