Where I'm From

I am from curly maple polished to a shine,

from Saltwater Sandals and Popsicles with two sticks. 

I am from striped curtains on sliding windows. 

(Thin and lemony, bubbling over my bed in the summer breeze.)

I am from the overlapping ferns of a forest floor,

the hollow of a towering rhododendron--

a hidden cove of tangled branches.

I am from Christmas oranges and hazel eyes,

from Mary and Edward and the man still unknown. 

I am from the nose-in-a-books

and the one-more-degrees. 

From we don't believe that and respect those who do. 

I am from Sunday waffles and comic strips.

From one dusty Bible high on the shelf

and the sacred roar of a wind-swept beach.

I'm from Wakefield and stout Eastern stock,

casseroles and coffee taken black. 

From the matriarch keeping secrets at the baptismal font,

the patriarchs pushed--and running--from their kin. 

I am from stories collecting to a single pool,

the only children of only children,

trunks of mothballs and untethered memories

waiting for me to add my things.

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I first read one of these exercises--from this template based on "Where I'm From" by George Ella Lyons--over two years ago and always wanted to try my hand at one. Susan's recent lovely version prodded me into finally giving it a go. If you write one of your own, please do let me know. I love reading them.