Where I’m From
I’m from fingernail polish, from Soft & Beautiful and sweet tea.
I’m from the big pink house on the corner, enveloped in bushes of morning glory and gardenia. Trees full of peaches and plums. And grass covered in the crape myrtle’s tears.
I’m from don’t forget to call Granny and Poppy every Sunday after church, I’m from Uncle Nick and Jennie and Robbie.
I’m from the random backyard barbecue on a Friday night and let’s talk about who’s having a baby next.
From don’t throw away your vegetables when I’m not looking and don’t you know I’ve got eyeballs in the back of my head.
I’m from waking up to Mommie’s voice from the kitchen singing hymns barely at dawn’s break, I Surrender All.
I’m from Augusta, in the Woodlake of hills and houses, boys on the “green box” and girls on the swings. I’m Africa and I’m Palau. Sashimi and soy sauce.
I’m from the sister who wouldn’t hurt a fly and from the brother who got away with murder.
I’m from the chest in the living room that overflows with photos of baby bums, VHS tapes of first and fifth birthday parties, hospital bracelets, bubble gum, programs from our orchestra recitals, and postcards from Seattle.
This is where I’m from.
(Inspired by George Ella Lyon)