Heirlooms Air Looms

The plastic forest-green long-spouted watering can from Woolworth's salvaged from my biological father's Midtown office sits on the floor of my living room. It's an heirloom, I say aloud laughing. It's the only gift I have from my biological father 

besides my blue eyes long torso love of swimming and love of words and classical music.

I have a weensy milk pitcher in my cupboard that is also "an heirloom" that my mother gave me. It's one of those mass-produced milk pitchers people used at hotels and trains for a shot of cream in their coffee or tea. It's the only thing I have from her

except my smile and my huge round head curly hair great legs and sturdy hands and feet.