I AM FROM
By Jennifer @ Diary of 1
I am from dusty country roads,
From Vick’s Vapor Rub
And handmade clothes.
I am from the dirt floors of a house built from corrugated iron and boards,
With unshaded lightbulbs dangling from cords.
I am from the mint patch, Arizona honeysuckle, and big blue sky,
The black walnut grove, blooming yucca, and tumbleweeds piled high.
I am from clothes on the line and Kick the Can,
From Andy and Nelda,
The Appalachian and the artisan.
I am from Heather and Nancy and Becky,
From pride and poverty and poetry.
I’m from you’ll catch a cold and don’t hold open the refrigerator door,
Revival meetings, The Old Rugged Cross, and stories of the saints of yore.
I am from Tucson and Scots-Irish and English blood,
From clans and crests
And ‘Touch not the cat but a glove.’
I’m from fresh peaches and blackberries picked by my hand,
Fried okra and black coffee cooked in a pan.
I’m from Great Uncle Fran who could stand on his head,
And Great Granddad who carved the presidents now dead.
I’m from the hillbilly, Confederate, Merchant Marine,
The carpenter, the teacher, and ghosts that are seen.
I am from Mama’s stitched up album,
Careful labels on each photo
Tell where I’m from.
Old black and whites with yellowed corner tape
Reveal my mother with an eye for landscape.
I am from the snapshot of a small girl by the mailbox and mesquite,
A lovely memory from a lonely street.
I am from books and words and walks,
From designs in the clouds and the circling of hawks.
Where are you from?
I wrote this poem in response to the meme over at Chrysalis. Tonight is the last night to enter her contest, but I hope you’ll write your own and share it with me. The template for this poem is here, and the original poem of this style by George Ella Lyon is here.