I am from the two guitars hanging on my music room walls
From broken Dunlop picks and crumpled, ripped sheets.
I am from the music of chill and old artists
The music echoes from the amp
From the broken strings that served their purpose.

I am from the Sunflower
From the tall stem and the seeds provided.
I am from breezes fo spring
The spring smell rises along with the sports action
From the hits and goals in the sport of lacrosse.

I am from my dad’s side of the tree
Form the very social drinkers and the Polish pride.
I am from the parents giving me advice
From “Clean your room,” and “Turn down the music,”

I am from the belief in Catholicism
From the sign of the cross and genuflecting properly.
I am from the 8:00 am Sunday mornings
From the family who rarely misses mass.

I am from Oconomowoc Hospital and mom’s German grub.
From salted spatzels and the sauerbraten
From the three stuck in the snow bank, the Canadian ski trips
And for the love for deep sea fishing.

I am from sandy beaches of North Captiva, and Key West sailing
From the memorable slopes of Utah, to the colonial Boston.
I am from the trips that complete me
From the brothers not just looked at as family.