Where I'm From

I am from cedar chips

and pink haired trolls.

The two story gray house 

on Meadow Hollow,

Crowded and loud, 

It smelled like Sunday bacon.

I am from melty popsicles 

And calloused bare feet,

Crayfish in the creek

And kickball in the street.

I am from keeping secrets,

And learning to shave,

Rice nights and lima bean fights,

the blue carpet at Jess’ house,

Drinking her mom’s sweet tea.

I’m from warm mornings, 

Damp laundry on the line

the egg timer that dinged

at the 4 minute shower mark,

I’m from “Bless us o Lord,”

and “these are thy gifts,”

From chicken and dumplins 

and warm Christmas crusts.

From sharing the front bedroom 

Worn duct tape down the middle

To cartwheels and green grass,

Laying in the chalked street

to the fireflies blinking good night.

(I wrote this as an exercise with a reading course I took a while back. It’s modeled after George Ella Lyon’s poem “Where I’m From”)