I'm in love with my past

I don't write poetry EVER. However, this was an assignment for a class, and I actually like it. I'm in love with where I'm from, who I'm from, and what I've done.


Where I’m From

I’m from the middle.
I’m from the dirt in the garden, red from the clay,
Clothes on the line and hiking to the dam.
I’m from Sunflower perfume and English Leather cologne
during bedtime prayers.
I’m from glue on my fingers and making astronaut cats.
I’m from anything for family,
Spring peepers and blankets by the water,
Late nights on the bleachers.
I'm from bunk beds, diners, and drives,
Caking Fells Naptha on my poison ivy,
Secrets in the crawlspace.
I’m from the muddy water from the river on the Zimmermans’ farm,
The Lord’s prayer and God bless America.
I’m from a very human body,
Chicken pot pie and pork and sauerkraut.
I’m from imperfect relationships, strained relationships,
My siblings are friends, and my friends are siblings,
From the middle.
I’m from Dad’s logic and Mom’s thought.
I’m from a good shot,
Something strong.
I’m from busy hands,
A family with tough hands
And unconditional love.
We have sturdy legs, too.
I’m from the smell of gunpowder and gun oil
And doughnuts in the snow.
I’m from the mass of darkness in my mind.
I’m from the 80-100 rule and many late nights
And clay dust that cracks my skin and covers my clothes.
I’m from lightning bugs and shooting stars and dandelions.
I’m from small schools on hills.
I’m in between the farms and Charm City,
Promise rings and bigger dreams
In a little pond.
I’m from empowerment for everyone,
The pink lollipop lilies in my garden
with pistil and stamen,
My pride as a woman.
I’m from love and loneliness.
I’m from the clay under my nails,
From thinking for myself,
And a strong muscle in my chest.
I’m from the middle.