I am from clothespins, Tide, and hot summer breezes.
I am from the big curve at the 11 mile mark and the circle driveway I used to park in.
I am from dreaded poison ivy and pesky mosquitoes,
And eagerly anticipated dogwood trees.
I am from Turkey at Thanksgiving and Pizza at Christmas,
From the expected and the unexpected.
I am from freckled cheeks and arms, almond-shaped brown eyes,
And pale skin that burns.
I am from kamistybeth
And Elmores and Ballews.
I am from hard - sometimes sweet - martyrdom
And smiles that sometimes hide.
I am from I love you and Don’t be sassy
And This too shall pass...
I am from AG, fire and brimstone, and revivals that didn’t really mean anything.
I am from a city I don’t remember and a city I abscond, and a city with new roots.
I am from home-grown corn, fried green tomatoes,
And the summer Dad said Merry Christmas in July with presents of garden hoes.
I am from the picture wall of baby photos, school portraits, and unknown faces from long before,
And from the top shelf in the walk-in closet with all its secrets:
Untouched family albums, clipped-out newspapers, and old half-forgotten letters.
I am from hurts and hugs and half-truths and secrets -
Each being discovered one at a time,
Like finding southern country treasure,
Or an un-seen bee,
Hovering over a glass of sweet iced tea.