From Italy to South Orange

I am a guido, I am a guinea, I am every slur that goes with my culture.

To people that hate, I am these things.

 But to me and my family, and loved ones,

I am Italian

My great-great grandfather moved to South Orange

 so he could plant his tomatoes,

The soil in other towns wasn’t good enough so that’s where we settled.

My great-great grandmother followed

so she could cook those tomatoes.

I am a plate of spaghetti,

sauce so crimson red it could pass for the precious ruby stone

I am tan,

the color of light bronze flows through my veins like the current of some emerald waterfall

The color on the outside matches the color on the inside. 

Bold, not afraid to show a little color, not afraid to show some balls.

I got that from my father.

 Who got that from his father.

I am all of my fathers.

They all stood 5 foot 9, 5 foot 10, and so do I.

They all played cards and baseball in the streets and football in the fields

And so do I.

They all went through the struggles,

 wallets tighter than a pissed off constrictors death grip;

and so do I.

And although they stood 5 foot 10 in height,

they stood as high as a great red oak in courage,

Facing repression, facing the hatred, facing it all,

and so do I.

I am walking tall, walking down the same path as my family.

I walk like nothing can hold me back,

like I can make my life into anything

Because my father’s father did it,

and my father did it,

and so will I.

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