I am from clothes on the line,
From Swan’s Down cake flour
And Sears and Roebuck.
I am from windows open on summer nights
To catch a breeze while sleeping with my head
At the foot of the bed.
I am from the grapevine whose fruit
Mama turned into jelly for my toast,
Making playhouses in the woods with cool dirt floors.
I am from cakes baked on Saturdays
(with fights over who got to lick the bowl)
And Sunday dinners of fried chicken
And creamed potatoes,
From Claudia and Buford, Cheeks and Harwells.
I am from the sweet tooth and the night owls.
From anything worth doing is worth doing well
And I can't hear myself think.
I am from Greystone Baptist and Bible School
And covered dish dinners and Rev. Chapman.
I’m from Saxapahaw, Duluth, England,
Scotland and Ireland, from
Pinto beans and cornbread.
From the father who ran the Dixie Dew
Who died when we were both too young,
And the mother who lived to give to others.
I am from big ole portraits of us kids on the walls,
A box of pictures sent from deep down in Georgia
To a brother, a son, an uncle in Burma
(these show me the family I don't really know),
A blue sapphire ring *borrowed* from a drawer
Lost forever when it slipped off the six year old finger,
I am from photos of five young beauties
Lined up in one frame, cherished and admired
Beside Grandpa’s reading chair.
All reminders of days long gone. Reminders of what
I am from.
This might be my first poem-ever. Go over to upsidedownbee, where Belinda gives the backstory and provides a template to create your own. This was a fun exercise. It made me think and appreciate my life and my roots. If you do it please leave a comment so I can read yours.
The photo is my favorite family photo. That's my grandpa with the headache and grandma at the piano with my cousins around her. Aunt Rena is taking advantage of a chance to read a magazine!
Hey B, write me a story from this photo!
