Her roots are my roots
only a generation
apart
starting in the old
country
later to live little Italy
Lodi and beyond
my family building tiny houses
her family moved into
black hands instead of the mafia
in love with Columbus
before people painted him
as a CAD
my family still
doubled-dealing
even after I was born
unable to break free from
what her father and maybe grandfather could
her mafia widow in
Florida
urging her into the arts
if not quite the old
lady on that cruise
then close fairy godmother
who looks over her
protects her
sends her gifts
turning her pumpkin
into a carriage
so she can go to the ball
maybe it was this that
sent her back to the
country
where she might find herself again
reinvented
coming to our door with her eye
on yet a new career
she tells us
she had journalism in her blood
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