American Granddaughter

My grandmother raised me American
Her ginny blood ran thick through her veins
Never an American
Her youth spend in the fields of the rich Italian countryside
Her faith, her family, her husband were
everything
My youth was spent in the American cityscape of violence and hatred
But She took me to a building of brick and stained glass
She pointed to a cross and a mans skinny flesh
Nothing but Muscles, bone, and skin
She talked of trusting this man and his father because
He died for us she explained
Then each night she touched her beads
Passing them though her shaking hands
Muttering words in her native language
Praying to the man in the stained glass building
Her life was lived having faith But
She raised me American and
In America you question
The land she came to by boat, the land of the free but
In America you mistrust
So I learned to question
Suspicions of all I am told
Why would a man die for human kind?
The same people who still murder today
The same people who hate so deeply
My Nonna believed
But she raised an American
And Americans doubt