His eyes lit up when I asked about Greece.
A child, sitting on his knee.
His skin wrinkled into a smile,
He laughed – “where to begin?”

He told me of his illness.
He was five years old,
they thought he would die.
His last wish was to see his donkey.
They brought it up five flights of stairs.
It turned out he lived.
I like to think it was because of the donkey.

He cut me a slice of bread
He told me of the tradition
A coin is baked into the bread, and if you
find it, you have luck for a year.
I thought having constant bread
Was enough good luck for me.

My grandpa taught me two new words.
“opp-o-clee-et-tay” and “car-poo-zee”
forbidden and watermelon
I was basically fluent

My family's like “My Big Fat Greek Wedding,”
But not big, fat, or a wedding.
We're just Greek.