BAKER’S DAUGHTER
I was the curly-haired baby
in the white girello, learning
to walk, leaving tracks in farina
and powdered sugar, sticky
fingers streaking the vetrina,
chased away by family members,
so that customers wouldn’t see
the baby traipsing about the Italian
bread, aiming for the cookie trays,
with little fingers in a curious mouth,
pleased to be the pasticcere’s daughter,
until I was scooped up before I could touch
the crusty mafaldine and crumbly biscotti
that customers planned to buy
fresh for that evening’s dinner.
TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY GENTLEMEN CALLERS
I wondered if he knew
he was being vetted,
a boy two months my senior
and barely fifteen years old,
considered a gentleman
caller by my Sicilian elders
who arranged the whole
scene and watched keenly
through the slatted doors
that separated the cucina
from the salotto, as we sat
and made quiet conversation,
hoping not to make awkward
noises against the plastic
couch cover, if we moved.
He must have known,
since his parents were
from the same town in Sicily,
and he was aware of the half
dozen eyes that observed us,
unfazed by the spectacle unfolding.
Bio:
Rosalia Dechbery is a first generation Italian-American, poet and educator. Recurring themes in her work reflect struggles with cultural identity and experiences as the eldest daughter of an old-fashioned Sicilian family raised in Queens, NY.
OVUNQUE SIAMO 