The musing once above my threshold frame
i am thankful today though I know not what for
And what weighs so hard?
From the part visceral where I once breathed through my mother’s body, to this present independent breath and the sustaining force of my own twenty-eight teeth.
From these places I am from.
Blackberry boughs bent to arches above my head, the smell of gasoline and spice and steam off the shoulders, the excited greet and brace of my sisters, sharing accents with my brother, raised beds and irrigations where my father passes time.
Immigrant heritage: Ziegler Tabacchi Harper Shell.
The inheritance of sweat and the love of the strife for something better than the past, present. I, and with they, press new soil everyday.
For I am what is their past in present, never forget your feet as theirs.
and cross this door in gratitude