Where I’m From

I am from the glass table in the living room,
From waterbeds and mom’s perfume.
I am from the screened back porch
(Hot, and fuming of
Chlorine and pool chemicals).
I’m from the scratchy yellow Bermuda grass,
The Rose of Sharon in front
Whose branches held blue flowers
Bringing me bumblebees.

I’m from summer dinners and dumb arguments,
From Jessie and Elliot under the table.
I’m from the ‘I beg to differs’, the Mr. fix its,
And from giving more than you can afford.

I’m from stop sucking your thumb, take one more bite
And “I see said the blind man to the deaf dog.”
I’m from ping-pong and swimming in the deep end.
I am from Presbyterian Hospital, suburban stuccos
And from Earl, my mother’s maiden name.

I’m from enchiladas and homemade birthday cakes.
I am from my uncle’s baldhead
And the hats he’s covered it with, faded by the sun.
A picture on top of the old wooden television
Framing a moment at our Elk Creek camp:
A boy, his tiny hand cupped in grandpa’s,
Learning how to follow
The footsteps of such big shoes.

I am from this life, nurtured--
The spring flower of my family’s garden--
A new world grows from my pollen.