I hear an accordian
playing from up the stairs
on the CD player
I recieved as a birthday present.
I hear the creak
beneith my feet
as I ascend
to the mid-level of our house.
Out on the counter
is cheese
wine
and bread, all french.
On the CD player
is a gleeful piece
that you'd hear
from a parisian cafe.
And there
on the stove
is a big vat of potatoes
showing our true heritage.
This is the part of my family,
aunt, uncle, mother and me,
who pretend france
is connected to poland.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A fun, sweet and humorous poem. Thanx for sharing Erica. Barbara