The ego part of me would like to believe that my poetic influence and creative ability had something to do with the creation of the following poem, written by my stepdaughter, Santi Biondolillo, for her sophomore English class, a few weeks ago. But the truth of the matter is, that she's a talented and gifted artist in her own right--from the stories and essays that she's written for class and family, to the self-made greeting cards she manages to create for every known occasion, to the incredible anime drawings that are the equal of any professional animator out there. The poem, entitled, "Silver and Gold and Infinity", is an outstanding stand-alone piece that captures perfectly the teenager that she is and, I think, every teenager that currently exists in our society. I hope you are touched and moved, as her mother and I were, by this amazing poem.
Silver and Gold and Infinity
I come from stained pillowcases,
And clinking dishes.
I am from paint already scraped from my walls,
And tiny particles of who knows what
Spread across my carpet.
I come from sunflowers,
The "jungle" that Malla had prowled,
And a tire swing(one that I was too afraid to ride).
Then I am from a pink playhouse,
My grandfather had built just for me,
And later I am from concrete, and a tree
That grew flowers, whose names I still do not know.
I come from chewed fingernails,
And the peeling skin around them,
Often covered in blue or red ink.
I'm from same hair since seventh grade,
My mole, and eyes, shaped like my father's.
I come from "Martin, are you walking home today?"
From I was like, and he was all.
I'm from Holy Beluga, "make good choices", and
I love you more than silver, and gold, and infinity.
I come from "bein' hip" with pocky, yanyan,
And empty Starbucks cups(plastic or cardboard depending on the weather).
From "faken" bacon, buttered noodles,
And the best tacos(that my mom just happens to make).
I am from a loving man's tears shed for someone great,
Someone he knew better than I,
And from the mattress and that phone call
That left me missing her cherry eye.
I come from deciding not to sleep,
Even though I am tired,
And from trying to close my stubborn dresser drawer,
As I stare curiously out a hole in the door where the knob used to be.
I come from just sitting,
My ipod playing, thinking back on my life, and what
I come from.
I lay my head on my stained pillow,
Looking forward to tomorrow, hoping
Not to miss a second of life,
But for now, I will take a short break
Until the morning, when I write, ready to make more memories.
I fall asleep...
© 2008 Santi Biondolillo