Olive Girl

I am a person of color
an olive girl
a spaghetti bender
a-With-Out-Papers
do WOP-WOP
whose ancestors
are Ellis Island immigrants.

I am hot red pepper
the blood of grapes in my veins
I am cool anise on ice
and smooth Perugina chocolate
melted and hand-dipped.

I am every note in La Scala
every brush stroke in Da Vinci's hand,
my heart, the chestnut of peasant bread,
my soul, Mt. Vesuvius, on a good day.

I am a Milano blonde
Sicilian redhead
the passion of Neapolitan nights
the dawn of Capri.

There was a time I'd run
from the olive boys
run from their rules
run from their kitchens
run from myself.

Now I stand tall as an Italian Cypress
who, on the ceiling of my chapel,
touches fingertips
with the God of my bones.