I am from crayons,
from Band-Aids and off-brand apple juice.
I am from tree stumps in an open backyard,
skies summer blue and December gray and stormy green.
I am from post oaks and blackjacks,
and the silver maple tree
whose hanging branches protected me from the rest of the world.
I’m from fairy dolls and well-worn paperbacks,
from lakes so big you can’t see the other side,
and from yellow smoke and noisy coughs,
from shelves packed with things that couldn’t be thrown away.
I’m from the Virgin Mary and her mother Anna,
their plaster forms embracing each other as they have for years,
a plastic rosary hanging above them.
I’m from freshly baked bread with Irish butter,
onion burgers and hand-squeezed lemonade.
From my grandmother’s hair, accidentally bleached orange,
the fists my grandfather used to whip any boy in the county,
the narrow scar where my father’s lung was pierced to save his life.
My sister and I would play for hours,
exploring worlds only we knew existed
within the art covered walls of the upstairs bedroom.
Sometimes we witnessed a family of animals go on a picnic,
other times fairies on a quest to save their kidnapped sister,
I am from those moments,
and even now though we’re grown.
my sister and I will still occasionally explore those secret worlds
that we discovered so long ago.
The middle kids and I are doing well with Fred and Paddle, and progressing in Oak Meadow as well. We are making our landscape this week, in Minecraft!
