A Mutt Like Us

OK, once again, I'm apologizing. First, I've had the best intentions of posting every day but ya know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men... My second apology comes from the fact that for a while anyway, my blog is going to be a little boring visually. I seem to have left my camera behind at a party a few weeks ago and won't be able to get it back until the next time I'm down the shore. Sorry guys. For now, my words will have to be enough.
Anyway, I've got a good blog in the works and I promise you'll get it soon. But work is insane these days so today all you get is me... sorry.
This is a poem I wrote a few months ago and I generally don't share stuff like this, because it's intensely personal to me and I get really anxious about sharing things like this but I guess the Internet is making me brave, so here goes. Be gentle. That's not to say, however, that I don't want to hear comments. Because it is kind of a loaded topic and I think it could generate some great discussion, just keep in constructive.

A Mutt Like Us

I am the white girlfriend.
The one who had never eaten collard greens.
Who needed a definition of ham hocks before she would sample them.
The one who still isn't quite sure what chitlins are,
but is a little ashamed to ask.

As I stand in the kitchen of the woman I hope
will someday be my mother-in-law,
She poses a question:
"What are you?"
And I know what she's asking.
She wants the recipe that has come together to create my blue eyes,
my fair skin, my angular nose:

2 parts Irish,
2 parts German,
1 part English
Just a dash of Polish
Bake for nine months until golden blonde.

Oh, she replies. You're a mutt, like us.
The word, with its single, ordinary syllable
immediately sours on my tongue.

I can't imagine the bloodlines that have borne my lover,
With his coffee-toned skin,
His deep chocolate eyes,
And those full lips I relish kissing,
Ever being described so commonly.

By my own mother,
We are looked upon as a riddle
She is not yet able to solve.

No longer can she predict a family of toe heads
Long before conception has even occurred.
I cannot give her an answer until the genetic dice
Has been rolled.

It's a brand new recipe,
As of yet untested
And it still has long to bake.