Where I’m From
I am from back roads, from wintergreen Skoal and empty pop cans.
I am from a work in progress
(Naked floors, peeled wallpaper with the promise of the weekend.)
I am from corn fields that hide secrets and bucks that have eyes.
I am from rootbeer floats and opinionated women, from Sterling, from Hazel.
I’m from the inappropriate and the less than punctual.
From “it’s right under your nose” and “you always wait till the last minute.”
I am from Sunday school twice a year and no amens.
I’m from covered bridges and “Blue and White, Let’s Fight!”, Donald’s Donuts and Adornetto’s pizza.
From the rice grandpa refused to eat, the frozen cow patties and blue eyes and brown hair.
I am from old cigar boxes, Rubbermaid containers and every nook and cranny in three states.
I am from dust and ashes, a gun metal casket my sister helped pick out, and a never ending sense of Deja vu.
I am from those moments of the could haves, should haves, and now I’ll never have the chance to.